KITTY CLIVE, ACTRESS
At the King's Head Inn at Thatcham on the Bath Road a post chaise drewup, but with no great flourish, for the postilion knew that his onlypassenger was a lady, and he had no intention of pulling his horses ontheir haunches merely for the sake of impressing a lady. In his youth hehad made many flourishes of such a type, but had failed to win an extracrown from a traveller of this sex.
The groom, who advanced with some degree of briskness from thestable-yard, became more languid in his movements when he perceived thatonly a lady was descending from the chaise. He knew that briskness onthe part of a groom never caused a coin to spring from the purse of alady. The landlord, however, taking a more hopeful view of the harvestprospects of the solitary lady as a guest--he had lived in London,and had heard of assignations in which the (temporarily) solitary ladybecame a source of profit to the inn-keeper--made a pretence of bustlingout to assist the occupant of the chaise to alight, bowing elaboratelywhen he perceived that the lining of her travel-ling-cloak was ofquilted silk, and once again as she tripped very daintily over thecobble-stones in front of the King's Head, and smiled very bewitchinglywithin the satin frame of her hood. The landlord had a notion thathe had seen her face and her smile before. He carried with him therecollection of a good many faces and smiles within the frame-work ofquilted satin hoods.
"Madam, you honour my poor house," he said in his best London manner asthe lady passed through the porch. "'T is rarely that a person of yourladyship's quality--"
"Spare us good lord--good landlord," cried the lady in an accent thathad a certain amount of Hibernian persuasiveness about it. "Spareus your remarks about our quality.'T is two horses and not four thatbrought me hither. It's of your quality, sir, that I'd fain have ataste. If I do n't have breakfast within an hour, I honestly believethat my death will be at your door, and where will your compliments bethen, my good man?"
"Your ladyship is pleased to be facetious," said the landlord, throwingopen the door of the public room with as great a flourish as if he weregiving admittance to sixty-foot _salle_, instead of a twenty-foot innparlour. He looked closely at his visitor as she passed through: hervoice sounded strangely familiar to him. "'T is a poor room for one,who, I doubt not, is no stranger to the noblest mansions," he added.
"There's no one better accustomed to the noblest mansions than myself,"said the lady, going to the looking-glass that occupied a place in apanel between the windows, throwing back her hood, and then arrangingher hair.
"Yes, faith, many's the palace I've lived in--for the space of half anhour at a time--but I make no objections to the room I 'm in just now.See the pictures!" She raised her hands in an attitude of surprise andadmiration, so well simulated as to deceive the landlord, though he hadlived in London.
"Pictures! Oh, the grandeur of it all! And what about breakfast? Give usyour notions of the proper decorations of a breakfast-table, good sir.It's a picture of rashers that I've got my heart set on."
"The best breakfast that my poor house can afford your ladyship shall beprepared."
"And soon, good Mr. Landlord, I implore of you, sir. Breakfast for two."
"For two, madam!" The landlord began to feel that his experience ofassignations was about to be augmented.
"For two, sir--I look for my brother to arrive by the coach fromLevizes. If he should enquire for me at the bar, just show him in here."
"Your commands shall be obeyed, madam. Will he enquire for your ladyshipby name?"
"By name? Why, how else would you have him enquire, my good man? Do youfancy that he carries a Bow Street runner's description of so humble aperson as myself?"
"Nay, madam; but you see your name is just what I have n't yet had thehonour of learning."
The lady burst out laughing.
"Faith, good sir, my name is a somewhat important detail in thetransaction I speak of. The gentleman will ask for Mistress Clive."
"Ah," cried the landlord, "I could have sworn that I knew the face andthe voice, but I failed to think of them in connection with our Kitty."He checked himself in his cackle of laughter, and bowed in his beststyle. "Madam, I implore your pardon, but--oh lord! how I've laughed inthe old days at Kitty's pranks!--nay, madam, forgive my familiarity. Iam your servant. Oh, lord! to think that it's Kitty Clive herself--ourKitty--madam--"
Only when he had fled to the door and had opened it did the manrecover himself sufficiently to be able to repeat his bow. After he haddisappeared at the other side of the door, the lady heard his outburstof laughter once again. It grew fainter as he hurried off to (she hoped)the kitchen.
Kitty Clive laughed, also, as she seated herself carefully on thesettle, for it was a piece of furniture whose cushions required to betenderly treated.
"And this is real fame," she murmured. "To be 'our Kitty' to a hundredthousand men and women is my ambition--a laudable one, too, I swear--oneworth struggling for--worth fighting Davy for, and Davy Garrick takesa deal of fighting. He has got more of it from Kitty Clive than hebargained for."
The recollection of her constant bickerings with David Garrick seemed tooffer her a good deal of satisfaction. It is doubtful if David Garrick'srecollection of the same incidents would have been equally pleasingto him; for Kitty Clive was very annoying, especially when she gotthe better of her manager in any matter upon which he tried to get thebetter of her, and those occasions were frequent.
She remained on the settle smiling now and again, and giving a laugh atintervals as she thought of how she had worsted David, as his namesakehad worsted the champion of Gath. But soon she became grave.
"I should be ashamed of myself," she muttered. "David Garrick is theonly one of the whole crew at the Lane that never varies. He 's the onlyone that 's always at his best. God forgive me for the way. I sometimestry to spoil his scenes, for he 's worth Quinn, Macklin, and Barry boundup in one; only why does he keep his purse-strings so close? Ah, if heonly had a pint of Irish blood in his veins."
She yawned, for her contests with Garrick did not cause her any greatconcern; and then she tucked up her feet upon the settle and hummed anair from the _Beggars' Opera_. Hearing the sound of wheels she paused,listening.
"Sure it can't be the coach with my brother yet awhile," said she. "Ah,no, 't is the sound of a chaise, not a coach." She resumed her liltingof the air; but once again it was interrupted. Just outside the doorof the room there was the sound of an altercation. The voice of thelandlord was heard, apparently remonstrating with a very self-assertiveperson.
"I know my rights, sir, let me tell you," this person shouted. "Lady meno ladies, sir; I have a right to enter the room--'t is a public room.Zounds, sir, cannot you perceive that I am a gentleman, if I am anactor?"
"I'll dare swear he could n't," muttered Mrs. Clive.
"Nay, sir, you shall not intrude on the privacy of a lady," came thevoice of the landlord.
"Out of the way, sirrah," the other cried, and at the same moment thedoor was flung open, and a tall young man wearing a travelling cloak andboots strode into the room followed by the landlord, at whom he turnedscowling at every step.
"Madam, I give you my word that I am not to blame; the gentleman wouldcome in," cried the landlord.
"That will do, sir," said the stranger. "I myself will make whateverapology may be needed. I flatter myself that I have had to make manyapologies before now."
"Madam," continued the landlord, "I told him that you--"
"That will do, Boniface!" cried the other, standing between the landlordand Mrs. Clive, who had risen. Then giving a smirk and a flourishingbow, he said: "Madam, you look to be a sensible woman."
"I vow, sir," said Kitty, "I have never been accused of being sensiblebefore. If you cannot pay a woman a better compliment than to call hersensible, you would be wise to refrain from the attempt to flatter her."
The pause that followed was broken by the self-satisfied chuckle ofthe landlord. He seemed to take credit to himself for Kitty's sally.He looked at the stranger, then at
the lady; his face puckered witha smile. Then he walked to the door, and gave another chuckle as heglanced round with his hand on the door.
"Mistress Kitty has taken the measure of my fine gentleman," hemuttered, with a shrewd wink; "there's no need for me here."
His chuckle broadened into a guffaw as he went down the passage, havingclosed the door.
"Pray, madam, be not offended," the man who was facing Kitty managedto say, after an interval. "If I called you sensible, I most humblyapologise. No offence was meant, madam."
"I believe that, sir; but no woman likes to be called sensible. You maycall one a silly piece, a romp, or a heartless coquette without offence;but never a sensible woman."
"I forgot myself for the moment, madam, owing to the treatment Ireceived at the hands of that bumpkin Boniface. I am, in what isdoubtless your condition--awaiting the coach, and I objected to berelegated to the kitchen."
"Faith, sir," said Kitty, with a laugh, as she returned to the settle,"I have passed some pleasant enough hours in a kitchen."
"And so have I, madam, when the wenches were well favoured," said theman, assuming the sly look of a man who had seen life. [Men who fanciedthey knew the world were as plentiful in the last century as they are inthe present.] "Yes, madam; but then I went into the kitchen by choice,not on compulsion."
"Maybe you left on compulsion; kitchen wenches have strong arms, sir,"remarked Kitty.
"Nay, nay, madam, Jack Bates--my name, madam--has always been afavourite with the wenches."
"The kitchen wenches?"
"Zounds, madam, a wench is a wench, whether in the kitchen or theparlour, Oh, I know woman thoroughly: I have studied her. Woman is adelightful branch of education."
"Oh, sir!" cried Kitty, sinking in a curtesy with the look of mockdemureness with which she was accustomed to fascinate her audiences atDrury Lane.
Mr. Bates was fascinated by that look. He smiled good-naturedly, wavinghis hat as if to deprecate the suggestion that he meant to be a gay dog.
"Nay, be not fluttered, fair one," he cried with a smirk. "I protestthat I am a gentleman."
"Oh, I breathe again," said Kitty, rising to the surface, so to speak,after her curtesy, "A gentleman? I should never have guessed it. Ifancied I heard you assert that you were an actor--just the opposite,you know."
"So I am, madam. I am an actor," said Mr. Bates. Sharp though Kitty'ssarcasm was, it glanced off him.
Kitty assumed a puzzled look. Then she pretended that his meaning haddawned on her.
"Oh, I see; you mean, sir, that you are the actor of the part of agentleman. Faith, sir, the part might have been better cast."
"I hope that I am a gentleman first, and an actor afterwards, madam,"said Mr. Bates, with some measure of dignity.
"In that case, I presume you were appearing in the former _role_ beforeyou arrived at the inn," said Kitty, whose sarcasm was at no timedeficient in breadth.
Even Mr. Bates was beginning to appreciate her last sally, when sheadded, "I do not remember having seen your name in a bill of any of theLondon playhouses, Mr. Bates."
"I have never appeared in London, madam," said Mr. Bates, "and, so far asI can gather, I have not lost much by remaining in the country."
"Nay, but think what the playgoers of London have lost, Mr. Bates," saidKitty solemnly.
"I do think of it," cried the man. "Yes, I swear to you that I do. WhenI hear of the upstarts now in vogue I feel tempted sometimes to put mypride in my pocket and appear in London."
"Before starting in London, a person needs to have his pockets full ofsomething besides pride," said Kitty. "There are other ways of makinga fortune besides appearing on the London stage. Why should men cometo London to act when they may become highwaymen in the country--ay, orinn-keepers--another branch of the same profession?"
"It is clear, madam, that you have no high opinion of the stage. To letyou into a secret--neither have I." Mr. Bates' voice sank to a whisper,and he gave a confidential wink or two while making this confession.
Kitty was now truly surprised. Most actors of the stamp of Mr. Bates,whom she had met, had a profound belief in the art of acting, andparticularly in themselves as exponents of that art.
"What, sir!" she cried, "are you not an actor on your own confession,whatever the critics may say?"
"I admit it, my dear lady; but at the same time, I repeat that I haveno faith in the stage. Acting is the most unconvincing of the arts. Isthere ever a human being outside Bedlam who fancies that the stage herois in earnest?"
"I should say that the force of the illusion is largely dependent uponthe actor," said Kitty.
"Nothing of the sort, I assure you," said Bates, with a pityingsmile--the smile of the professor for the amateur. "The greatest ofactors--nay, even I myself, madam, fail to carry an audience along withme so as to make my hearers lose sight of the sham. What child would beimposed on by the sufferings of the stage hero or heroine? What schoolmiss would fail to detect the ring of falsehood in the romance of whatauthors call their plots?"
"You fancy that everyone should be capable of detecting the differencebetween a woman's account of her real woes and an actress's simulationof such woes?"
"That is my contention, madam. The truth has a ring about it that cannotbe simulated by even the best actress."
"Dear, dear!" cried Kitty, lifting up her hands. "What a wonder it isthat any persons can be prevailed upon to go evening after evening tothe playhouses! Why, I myself go--yes, frequently. Indeed--perhaps Ishould blush to confess it--I am a constant attender at Drury Lane. I donot believe I should be able to live without going to the playhouse!"
"Tell the truth, madam," cried Mr. Bates, stretching out an eloquentforefinger at her as she sat on the settle looking at her hands on herlap, "have you ever sat out an entire play?"
Kitty looked up and laughed loud and long, so that Mr. Bates feltgreatly flattered. He began to believe that he had just said a veryclever thing.
"Well, there I allow that you have me," said Kitty. "Sir, I admit thatas a rule I do not remain seated during even an entire act of a play."
"Ah," cried Mr. Bates triumphantly, "I knew that you were a sensiblewoman, asking your pardon again for my presumption. Your confessionbears out my contention; and let me tell you that, on the stage,matters, so far from improving, are steadily degenerating. I hear thatthat young man Garrick is now more in vogue than that fine old actor,Mr. Quin. Think of it, madam! A wine merchant they say this Garrick was.Have you ever seen him?"
"Oh, yes," said Kitty; "I have seen him."
"And what may he be like?"
"Mr. Garrick is like no one, and no one is like Mr. Garrick," said Kittywarmly.
"Ah!" Mr. Bates' lips were curled with a sneer that caused Kitty's feetto tap the floor nervously. "Ah! A little fellow, I understand--not upto my shoulder."
"Physically, perhaps not," Kitty replied. "But the stature of Mr.Garrick varies. I have seen him tower over every one on the stage--overevery one in the playhouse; and again I have seen him dwindle until hewas no higher than a child."
Mr. Bates looked surprised.
"How does he manage that? A stage trick, I expect."
"I dare say 't is so--merely that stage trick--genius."
"He could not deceive me: I would take his measure," said Mr. Bates,with a shrewd smirk.
"Still, I have heard that even the players beside him on the stage aresometimes carried away with the force of his acting," said Kitty.
"A paltry excuse for forgetting their lines!" sneered Mr. Bates. "Ah! noactor could make a fool of me!"
"Would anyone think it necessary to improve on Nature's handiwork inthis respect?" asked Kitty demurely.
"How?" For a moment Mr. Bates had his doubts as to whether or not thelady meant to pass a compliment upon him. The demure look upon her facereassured him. "You are right, madam; they could easily see what I am,"he said, tapping his chest.
"They could, indeed, sir," said Kitty, more demurely than ever.
br /> "I do not doubt, mind you, that there is a certain superficial abilityabout this Mr. Garrick," resumed Mr. Bates in a condescending way.
"I am sure that Mr. Garrick would feel flattered could he but know thathe had the good opinion of Mr. Bates," remarked Kitty.
"Yes, I know that I am generous," said Mr. Bates. "But this Garrick--Iwonder what his Hamlet is like."
"It is _like_ nothing, sir: it is Hamlet," cried Kitty.
"You have seen it? What is he like when the ghost enters? I have madethat scene my own."
Kitty sprang from the settle.
"Like?" she said. "What is he like? He is like a man in the presence ofa ghost at first, and then--then the ghost becomes more substantial thanhe. You hear a sudden cry--he stands transfixed with horror--you seethat he is not breathing, and he makes you one with himself. You cannotbreathe. You feel that his hand is on your heart. You are in the powerof his grasp. He can do what he pleases with you. If he tightens hisgrasp you will never breathe again in this world. There is a terriblepause--he draws his breath--he allows you to draw yours; but you feel inthat long silence you have been carried away to another world--youare in a place of ghosts--there is nothing real of all that is aboutyou--you have passed into a land of shadows, and you are aware of ashadow voice that can thrill a thousand men and women as though theywere but one person:--
"'Angels and ministers of grace defend us!'
"Bah! what a fool I am!" cried Kitty, flinging herself excitedly uponthe settle. "Imitate Mr. Garrick? Sir, he is inimitable! One may imitatean actor of Hamlet. David Garrick is not that; he is, I repeat, Hamlethimself."
Mr. Bates was breathing hard. There was a considerable pause beforehe found words to say,--"Madam, for one who has no stage training, Iprotest that you display some power. You have almost persuaded me toadmire another actor's Hamlet--a thing unheard of on the stage. I,myself, play the part of the Prince of Denmark. It would gratify me tobe permitted to rehearse a scene in your presence. You would then see onwhat points Mr. Garrick resembles me."
"Oh, lord!" muttered Kitty, making a face behind Mr. Bates' back.
"There is the scene at the grave. I am reckoned amazing in that scene."
"Amazing? I do not doubt it."
"I wonder how Mr. Garrick acts the grave scene."
"Oh, sir,'t is his humour to treat it paradoxically." Kitty was nowherself again. "He does not treat the grave scene gravely but merrily."
"Merrily?"
"Why not? Novelty is everything in these days. Does not Mr. Macklin makeShylock a serious and not a comic character? An innovation on the stagedraws the town."
"Faith, madam, to act the grave scene in a burst of merriment is past aninnovation."
"Not at all, sir. With Mr. Garrick it seems quite natural. He is oneof those actors who are superior to nature. I am sure you have met somesuch."
"I never met one who was otherwise."
"Ah, then you will see how Mr. Garrick could enter upon the scene,beginning to play bowls with Horatio, using skulls for the game; thisgoes on for some time, while they quarrel on the score of the score.They fling their skulls at one another, and then they take to fencingwith two thigh bones which they pick up. Hamlet runs Horatio throughwith his bone, and he falls atop of the first grave-digger, who hasbeen watching the fight, and in pantomime--much is done by pantomimenowadays--laying odds on Hamlet. Both topple over into the grave, andHamlet stands on the brink, convulsed with laughter. This, you observe,gives extra point to Hamlet's enquiry, 'Whose grave is that, sirrah?'and certainly extraordinary point to the man's reply, 'Mine, sir.' Hasit ever occurred to you to act the scene after that fashion?"
"Never, madam--never, I swear," cried Mr. Bates heartily.
"Ah, there you see is the difference between Mr. Garrick and you," saidKitty. "Do you bring on Hamlet's Irish servant, Mr. Bates?"
"Hamlet's Irish servant?"
"Is it possible that you have not yet followed the new reading in thescene where Hamlet comes upon the king praying?"
"I know the scene," cried Mr. Bates, throwing himself into an attitudeas he began: "Oh, my offense is rank; it smells to heaven!"
"That is it," cried Kitty, interrupting him. "Well, then Hamlet appearswith his Irish servant."
"'Tis the first I've heard of him."
"Let it not be the last.'T is a new reading. Hamlet enters, sees theking, and then turns to his Irish servant saying, 'Now might I do it,Pat'--the man's name is Patrick, you perceive?"
"Madam, a more ridiculous innovation I protest I never heard of," saidMr. Bates.
"By my faith, sir,'t is not more ridiculous than some stage innovationsthat I could name," said Kitty.
"I could understand Kitty Clive introducing such a point into one of thefarces in which I hear she is a merry baggage, but--"
"You have never seen Kitty Clive then?"
"Never, but I hear she is a romp. Are you an admirer of hers, madam?"
"Sir, she has no more devoted admirer than myself," said Kitty, lookingat the man straight in the face.
"Is she not a romp?"
"Oh, surely, a sad, sad romp. She has by her romping, saved many a playfrom being damned."
"She is so great a favorite with playgoers, I doubt her ability," saidMr. Bates. "I doubt if she could move me. What is the nature of hermerriment?"
"Extravagance, sir, extravagance. She bounces on as a hoyden, andpulls a long face like this"--even Mr. Bates roared at Kitty's longface--"behind the back of the very proper gentleman who has come to wooher. She catches the point of his sword sheath so that when he tries toturn he almost falls. She pretends that he has struck her with his swordand she howls with pain. He hastens to comfort her--down goes a chair,and he topples over it. 'Murder, murder!' she cries, and snatches up theshovel as if to defend herself. My gentleman recovers, and hastens toassure her of his honourable intentions. She keeps him off with hershovel. He drops his hat, and she shovels it up and runs around the roomto throw it on the fire. He follows her over tables, chairs, and a sofaor two. 'Tally ho!' she cries and gives a view-halloo. Round the roomthey go, and just as he is at the point of catching her she uses theshovel as a racket, and sends the hat flying, and at the same stroke,sends her lover sprawling."
"Madam, she is a vulgar jade, I swear," cried Mr. Bates. He was more outof breath than Kitty, for she had acted the part so vividly that shehad forced him involuntarily to take the part of the hoyden's lover, andboth he and his hat had suffered. "That scene which you have describedbears out my argument that the more outrageous a scene is, the betterpleased are the public. Women do not make fools of men in real life."
"Indeed, sir?"
"No; there you have the absurdity of the stage. Authors set reason andsense at defiance, daily. Shakespeare is one of the worst offenders."
"What, Shakespeare?"
"Oh, believe me, madam, Shakespeare is a greatly over-rated writer.Look, for instance, at his play of 'Romeo and Juliet': Romeo sees thelady, exchanges a few words with her, and falls at once in love withher. He has only to rant beneath her window by the light of the moon,and forthwith she agrees to marry him, and sure enough, they are marriedthe very next day. Good lord! Would Shakespeare have us believe thatmen can be so easily fooled? Our moderns have not greatly improved uponShakespeare."
"I am with you there, sir, heart and soul."
"No, they still outrage sense by their plots. A man meets a woman quiteby chance. She tells him a cock and bull story that any fool could seeoutrages probability; but he is captivated in a moment. He falls on hisknees before her and vows that she has only to speak to make him thehappiest of mortals. All this is, madam, I need scarcely say, quitemonstrous and unnatural. Such a proceeding could not occur outsideBedlam."
"This gentleman should be taught a lesson," said Kitty to herself, asshe watched Mr. Bates swaggering across the room. She became thoughtfulfor a moment, and then smiled--only for a second, however; then shebecame grave and her voice faltered as she said: "Sir, I pr
otest that Inever before knew--nay, felt--what real eloquence was--eloquence weddedto reason."
"Nay, madam," smirked Mr. Bates.
"'T is the truth, sir. May I hope that you will not think me tooforward, if I venture to express a humble opinion, sir?" Her voice waslow, and it certainly faltered more than before.
"I shall treasure that opinion, madam," said Mr. Bates. That soft voiceproduced its impression upon him. He felt that he was in the presence ofan amazingly fine woman.
"You will not be offended, sir, if I say that I feel it to be a greatpity that one who has such eloquence at his command should spend histime merely repeating the phrases--the very inferior phrases--of others.The Senate, sir, should be your stage. You are not angry, sir?"
She had laid a hand upon his arm and was looking pleadingly up to hisface.
"Angry?" cried Mr. Bates, patting her hand, at which she turned hereyes, modestly from his face to the ground.
"Angry? Nay, dear lady, you have but expressed what I have oftenthought."
"I am so glad that you are not offended by my presumption, sir," saidKitty, removing her hand--Mr. Bates did not seem willing to let it go."If you were offended, I protest that I should be the most wretched ofwomen."
Mr. Bates marked how her voice broke, He took a step after her, as shewent to the settle.
"Dear madam, you deserve to be the happiest rather than the mostwretched of your sex," he said--his voice was also very soft and low.
Kitty turned to him, crying quickly: "And I should be so if--" hereshe sighed--it seemed to Mr. Bates quite involuntarily. "Pardon me:I--I--that is--sometimes the heart forces the lips to speak when theyshould remain silent. A woman is a simple creature, sir."
"A woman is a very fascinating creature, I vow," cried Mr. Bates, and hefelt that he was speaking the truth.
"Ah, Mr. Bates, she has a heart: that is woman's weakness--her heart!"murmured Kitty.
"I protest that she has not a monopoly of that organ," said Mr. Bates."May not a man have a heart also, sweet one?"
"Alas!" sighed Kitty, "it has not been my lot to meet with any but thosewho are heartless. I have often longed--but why should I burden you withthe story of my longings--of my sufferings?"
"Your woman's instinct tells you that you have at last met with a manwho has a heart. I have a heart, dear creature. Was it my fate broughtme into this room to-day? Was it my inscrutable destiny that led me tomeet the most charming--"
"Pray, Mr. Bates, be merciful as you are strong!" cried Kitty, pressingone hand to her tumultuous bosom. "Do not compel a poor weak woman tobetray her weakness: the conqueror should be merciful. What a voice isyours, sir! What poor woman could resist its melody? Oh, sir, forgivethe tears of a weak, unhappy creature."
She had thrown herself on the settle and had laid her head upon one ofits arms.
In an instant he was beside her and had caught her hand.
"Nay, dear one, I cannot forgive the tears that dim those bright eyes,"he whispered in her ear. "You have had a past, madam?"
"Ah, sir," cried Kitty, from the folds of her handkerchief, "all my lifeup to the present has been my past--that is why I weep."
"Is it so sad as that? You have a story?"
"Should I tell it to you?" said Kitty, raising her head suddenly andlooking at the face that was so near hers. "I will, I will--yes, I willtrust you--you may be able to help me."
"With my latest breath!" cried Mr. Bates.
"Sir, to be brief, I am a great heiress," said Kitty, quite calmly. Mr.Bates started, his eyes brightened. "My uncle was trustee of my father'sproperty--it is in two counties," continued Kitty. "For some years aftermy father's death I had no reason for complaint. But then a change came.My uncle's son appeared upon the scene, and I soon perceived his truecharacter--a ruined, dissolute scamp, I knew him to be, and when Irejected his advances with scorn, his father, who I fancied was myfriend, commenced such a series of persecutions as would have broken aless ardent spirit than mine. They did not move me. They shut me up in acold, dark dungeon and loaded these limbs of mine with fetters."
"The infernal ruffians!"
"They fed me with bread and water. They tortured me by playing on theharpsichord outside my prison all the best known airs from the _Beggars'Opera_.
"Horrible!"
"Oh, I thought I should have gone mad--mad; but I knew that that wasjust what they wanted, in order that they might shut me up in Bedlam,and enjoy my property. I made a resolution not to go mad, and I haveadhered to it ever since."
"Noble girl!"
"At last the time came when I could stand their treatment no longer.I flung my iron fetters to the winds--I burst through the doors of myprison and rushed into the dining-hall where my two persecutors werecarousing in their cups. They sprang up with a cry of horror when Iappeared. My uncle's hand was upon the bell, when I felled him with aheavy glass decanter. With a yell--I hear it now--his son sprang uponme--he went down beneath the stroke of the ten-light chandelier which Ihastily plucked down and hurled at him. I called for a horse and chaise.They were at the door in a moment and I fled all night. But alas! alas!I feel that my flight shall avail me nothing. They are on my track, andI shall be forced to marry at least one of them. But no, no, sooner thansubmit, with this dagger--"
She had sprung from her place and her hand was grasping something insideher bodice, when Mr. Bates caught her firmly by the wrist.
"You shall do nothing so impious, madam," he cried.
"Who shall prevent me?" cried Kitty, struggling with him. "Who shallsave me from my persecutors?"
"I, madam--I will do it!" cried Mr. Bates.
"You--how?" Kitty had now ceased to struggle.
"I will marry you myself!" shouted Mr. Bates, grasping both her hands.
"But only half an hour has passed since we met," said Kitty, lookingdown.
"That is enough, madam, to convince me that my heart is yours. Sweetone, I throw myself at your feet. Let me be your protector. Let me holdyou from your persecutors. Dearest lady, marry me and you are safe."
"Thank heaven--thank heaven I have found a friend!" murmured Kitty.
"You agree?" said Mr. Bates, rising to his feet.
"Oh, sir, I am overcome with gratitude," cried Kitty, throwing herselfinto his arms.
"An heiress--and mine," Mr. Bates whispered.
"Mistress Clive, the gentleman has arrived--oh, lud! what has Kitty beenup to?"
The landlord was standing at the door with his hands raised.
"'T is my brother, Jimmy Raftor," said Kitty, coolly arranging thedisordered hood of her cloak before the glass. "Jimmy is one of the bestpistol-shots in all Ireland, and that's saying a good deal. Show thegentleman in, Mr. Landlord."
Mr. Bates stood aghast. "Mistress Clive--not Kitty Clive of Drury Lane?"he faltered.
"I am Kitty Clive of Drury Lane, at your service, sir, if you shouldneed another lesson to convince you that even the most ridiculous story,if plausibly told, will carry conviction to the most astute of men."
Kitty Clive sank in a mock curtesy; the landlord roared with laughter;Mr. Bates stood amazed in the center of the room.