CHAPTER XXIX. THE COTTAGE.
It was one of those fresh and breezy days where brilliant flashesof sunlight alternate with deep shadow, making of every landscape asuccession of pictures, that Kate Henderson set out on her way to thecottage. Her path led through the demesne, but it was as wild as anyforest scene in Germany, now wending through dark woods, now issuingforth over swelling lawns, from which the view extended many a mileaway,--at one moment displaying the great rugged mountains of Connemara,and at another, the broad blue sea, heaving heavily, and thundering insullen roar against the rocks.
The fast-flitting clouds, the breezy grass, the wind-shaken foliage, andthe white-crested waves, all were emblems of life; there was motion andsound and conflict! and yet to her heart, as she walked along, theseinfluences imparted no sense of pleasure or relief. For a few seconds,perhaps, would she suddenly awake to the consciousness of the fair scenebefore her, and murmur to herself, perchance, the lines of some favoritepoet; but in another moment her gloomy thoughtfulness was back again,and with bent-down head was she again moving onward. At times shewalked rapidly forward, and then, relaxing her pace, she would strolllistlessly along, as though no object engaged her. And so was it inreality,--her main desire being to be free, in the open air; to be frombeneath that roof whose shadow seemed to darken her very heart! Couldthat haughty spirit have humbled itself in sorrow, she might have foundrelief; but her proud nature had no such resource, and in her full heartinjury and wrong had alone their place.
"And this," burst she forth at length,--"and this is Home! this thedreamland of those far away over the seas,--the cherished spot of allaffections,--the quiet nook wherein we breathe an atmosphere of love,blending our lives with all dearest to us. Is it, then, that all ishollow, false, and untrue; or is it that I alone have no part in thehappiness that is diffused around me? I know not which would be thesadder!"
Thus, reasoning sadly, she went along, when suddenly, on the slope of agentle hill in front of her, gracefully encircled with a young woodof larch and copper-beech, she caught sight of the cottage. It was atasteful imitation of those seen in the Oberland, and with its wildbackground of lofty mountain, an appropriate ornament to the landscape.
A small stream running over a rocky, broken bed formed the boundary ofthe little grounds, and over this a bridge of a single plank conductedthe way to the cottage. The whole was simple and unpretending; therewas none of that smart trimness which gives to such scenes the air ofan imitation. The lawn, it is true, was neatly shaven, and theflower-plots, which broke its uniformity, clean from weeds; but theflowers were of the simplest kind,--the crocus and the daffodil had tostand no dangerous rivalry, and the hyacinth had nothing to vie with.
Kate loitered for some time here, now gazing at the wild, sternlandscape, now listening to the brawling rivulet, whose sounds were theonly ones in the stillness. As she drew nigh the cottage, she foundthe windows of a little drawing-room open. She looked in: all wascomfortable and neat-looking, but of the strictest simplicity. She nextturned to the little porch, and pulled the bell; in a few seconds thesounds of feet were heard approaching, and a very old woman, whoseappearance and dress were the perfection of neatness, appeared.
"Don't you know me, Mrs. Broon?" said Kate, gently.
"I do not, then, my Lady," said she, respectfully, "for my eyes isgettin' dimmer every day."
"I 'm Kate Henderson, Mrs. Broon. Do you forget me?"
"Indeed I do not," said Catty, gravely. "You were here with the masterand my Lady?"
"Yes. I went away with them to Germany; but I have come home for awhile, and wish to pay my respects to Miss Mary."
"She isn't at home to-day," was the dry response.
"But she will return soon, I conclude. She'll be back some time in theevening, won't she?"
"If she plazes it, she will. There's nobody to control or make her dobut what she likes herself," said Catty.
"I ask," said Kate, "because I'm a little tired. I've come off a longjourney, and if you'd allow me to rest myself, and wait awhile in thehope of seeing Miss Martin, I'd be very thankful."
"Come in, then," said Catty; but the faint sigh with which the wordswere uttered, gave but a scant significance of welcome.
Kate followed her into the little drawing-room, and at a sign from theold woman, took a seat.
"Miss Mary is quite well, I'm glad to hear," said Kate, endeavoring tointroduce some conversation.
"Will they ever come back?" asked the old woman, in a stern, harshvoice, while she paid no attention whatever to Kate's remark.
"It is very unlikely," said Kate. "Your poor master had not long to livewhen I came away. He was sinking rapidly."
"So I heard," muttered the other, dryly; "the last letter from Mr.Repton said 'he was n't expected.'"
"I fear it will be a great shock to Miss Mary," said Kate.
The old woman nodded her head slowly several times without speaking.
"And, perhaps, cause great changes here?" continued Kate.
"There's changes enough, and too many already," muttered Catty. "Iremember the place upwards of eighty years. I was born in the littlehouse to the right of the road as you come up from Kelly's mills. Therewas no mill there then, nor a school-house, no, nor a dispensary either!Musha, but the people was better off, and happier, when they had none ofthem."
Kate smiled at the energy with which these words were uttered,surmising, rightfully, that Catty's condemnation of progress had adirect application to herself.
"Now it's all readin' and writin', teachin' honest people to be rogues,and givin' them new contrivances to cheat their masters. When I knewCro' Martin first," added she, almost fiercely, "there was n't a Scotchsteward on the estate; but there was nobody turned out of his houldin',and there was n't a cabin unroofed to make the people seek shelter undera ditch."
"The world would then seem growing worse every day," remarked Kate,quietly.
"To be sure it is. Why would n't it? Money is in every one's heart.Nobody cares for his own flesh and blood. 'T is all money! What will Iget if I take that farm over another man's head, or marry that girl thatlikes somebody better than me? 'Tis to be rich they're all strivin',and the devil never made people his own children so completely as byteachin' them to love goold!"
"Your young mistress has but little of this spirit in her heart?" saidKate.
"Signs on it! look at the life she leads: up before daybreak, and awaymany times before I 'm awake. She makes a cup of coffee herself, andsaddles the pony, too, if Patsey is n't there to do it; and she 's offto Glentocher, or Knock-mullen, twelve, fourteen miles down the coast,with barley for one, and a bottle of wine for the other. Sometimes shehas a basket with her, just a load to carry, with tay and shugar; ay,and--for she forgets nothing--toys for the children, too, and clothes,and even books. And then to see herself, she 's not as well dressedas her own maid used to be. There 's not a night she does n't sit uppatchin' and piecin' her clothes. 'T is Billy at the cross-roads madeher shoes last time for her, just because he was starvin' with nothing'to do. She ordered them, and she wears them, too; it makes him so proud,she says, to see them. And this is the niece of the Martins ofCro' Martin! without one of her kith or kin to welcome her home atnightfall,--without father or mother, brother or sister,--without a kindvoice to say 'God bless her,' as she falls off to sleep many a time inthat big chair there; and I take off her shoes without her knowin' it,she does be so weary and tired; and in her dhrames it 's always talkingto the people, givin' them courage, and cheerin' them up, tellin' themthere 's good times for every one; and once, the other evenin', shesang a bit of a song, thinkin' she was in Mat Leahy's cabin amusin' thechildren, and she woke up laughin', and said, 'Catty, I 've had such apleasant dhrame. I thought I had little Nora, my godchild, on my knee,and was teachin' her "Why are the daisies in the grass?" I can't tellyou how happy I felt!' There it was: the only thing like company to herpoor heart was a dhrame!"
"I do not wonder that you love her, Catty," said Kate; an
d the wordsfell tremulously from her lips.
"Love her! what's the use of such as me lovin' her?" cried the oldwoman, querulously. "Sure, it's not one of my kind knows how good sheis! If you only seen her comin' in here, after dark, maybe, wet andweary and footsore, half famished with cold and hunger,--out the wholelivelong day, over the mountains, where there was fever and shakin'ague, and starvin' people, ravin' mad between disease and destitution;and the first word out of her mouth will be, 'Oh, Catty, how gratefulyou and I ought to be with our warm roof over us, and our snug fire tosit at,' never thinkin' of who she is and what she has the right to, butjust makin' herself the same as _me_. And then she 'd tell me where shewas, and what she seen, and how well the people was bearin' up undertheir trials,--all the things they said to her, for they 'd tell herthings they would n't tell the priest. 'Catty,' said she, t' othernight, 'it looks like heartlessness in me to be in such high spiritsin the midst of all this misery here; but I feel as if my courage was awell that others were drinking out of; and when I go into a cabin, thesick man, as he turns his head round, looks happier, and I feel as ifit was my spirit that was warmin' and cheerin' him; and when a poorsick sufferin' child looks up at me and smiles, I 'm ready to drop on myknees and thank God in gratitude.'"
Kate covered her face with her hands, and never spoke; and now the oldwoman, warming with the theme she loved best, went on to tell variousincidents and events of Mary's life,--the perilous accidents whichbefell her, the dangers she braved, the fatigues she encountered. Evenrecounted by _her_, there was a strange adventurous character that ranthrough these recitals, showing that Mary Martin, in all she thought andsaid and acted, was buoyed and sustained by a sort of native chivalrythat made her actually court the incidents where she incurred thegreatest hazard. It was plain to see what charm such traits possessedfor her who recorded them, and how in her old Celtic blood ran thestrong current of delight in all that pertained to the adventurous andthe wild.
"'Tis her own father's nature is strong in her," said Catty, withenthusiasm. "Show him the horse that nobody could back, tell him of astorm where no fisherman would launch his boat, point out a cliff thatno man could climb, and let me see who 'd hould him! She 's so like him,that when there 's anything daring to be done you would n't know hervoice from his own. There, now, I hear her without," cried the oldwoman, as, rising suddenly, she approached the window. "Don't you hearsomething?"
"Nothing but the wind through the trees," said Kate.
"Ay, but _I_ did, and my ears are older than yours. She's riding throughthe river now; I hear the water splashin'."
Kate tried to catch the sounds, but could not; she walked out upon thelawn to listen, but except the brawling of the stream among the rocks,there was nothing to be heard.
"D' ye see her comin'?" asked Catty, eagerly.
"No. Your ears must have deceived you. There is no one coming."
"I heard her voice, as I hear yours now. I heard her spake to the mare,as she always does when she 's plungin' into the river. There, now,don't you hear that?"
"I hear nothing, I assure you, my dear Mrs. Broon. It is your ownanxiety that is misleading you; but if you like, I 'll go down towardsthe river and see." And without waiting for a reply Kate hasteneddown the slope. As she went, she could not help reflecting over thesuperstition which attaches so much importance to these delusions,giving them the character of actual warnings. It was doubtless from themind dwelling so forcibly on Miss Martin's perilous life that the oldwoman's apprehensions had assumed this palpable form, and thus inventedthe very images which should react upon her with terror.
"Just as I thought," cried Kate, as she stood on the bank of the stream;"all silent and deserted, no one within sight." And slowly she retracedher steps towards the cottage. The old woman stood at the door, pale andtrembling; an attempt to smile was on her features, but her heart deniedthe courage of the effort.
"Where is she now?" cried Catty, wildly. "She rang the bell this minute,and I heerd the mare trottin' round to the stable by herself, as shealways does. But where 's Miss Mary?"
"My dear Mrs. Broon," said Kate, in her kindest accents, "it is just asI told you. Your mind is anxious and uneasy about Miss Martin; you areunhappy at her absence, and you think at every stir you hear her coming;but I have been to the river-side, and there is no one there. I 'll goround to the stables, if you wish it."
"There 's no tracks of a hoof on the gravel," muttered the old woman, ina broken voice; "there was nobody here!"
"So I said," replied Kate. "It was a mere delusion,--a fancy."
"A delusion,--a fancy!" cried Catty, scornfully; "that's the way theyalways spake of whatever they don't understand. It's easier to say thatthan confess you don't see how to explain a thing; but I heerd the samesounds before you came to-day; ay, and I went down to see why she wasn't comin', and at the pool there was bubbles and froth on the water,just as if a baste had passed through, but no livin' thing to be seen.Was n't that a delusion, too?"
"An accident, perchance. Only think, what lives of misery we should leadwere we ever tracing our own fears, and connecting them with all thechanges that go on around us!"
"It's two days she's away, now," muttered the old woman, who onlyheeded her own thoughts; "she was to be back last night, or early thismornin'."
"Where had she gone to?" asked Kate, who now saw that the other hadlapsed into confidence.
"She's gone to the islands!--to Innishmore, and maybe, on to Brannock!"
"That's a long way out to sea," said Kate, thoughtfully; "but still, theweather is fine, and the day favorable. Had she any other object thanpleasure in this excursion?"
"Pleasure is it?" croaked Catty. "'Tis much pleasure she does be givenherself! Her pleasure is to be where there 's fever and want,--in thelonely cabin, where the sick is lyin'! It 's to find a poor crayturethat run away from home she 's gone now,--one Joan Landy. She's missin'this two months, and nobody knows where she 's gone to! and Miss Marygot so uneasy at last that she could n't sleep by night nor rest byday,--always talkin' about her, and say in' as much as it was all herfault; as if _she_ could know why she went, or where?"
"Did she go alone on this errand, then?"
"To be sure she did. Who could she have with her? She towld Loony she 'dwant the boat with four men in it, and maybe to stay out three days, forshe 'd go to all the islands before she came back."
"Loony 's the best sailor on the coast, I 've heard; and with suchweather as this there is no cause for alarm."
Catty did not seem to heed the remark; she felt that within her againstwhich the words of consolation availed but little, and she sat broodingsorrowfully and in silence.
"The night will soon be fallin' now," said she, at last. "I hope she'snot at sea!"
In spite of herself, Kate Henderson caught the contagion of the oldwoman's terrors, and felt a dreamy, undefined dread of coming evil. Asshe looked out, however, at the calm and fair landscape, which, asday declined, grew each moment more still, she rallied from the gloomythoughts, and said,--"I wish I knew how to be of any service to you,Mrs. Broon. If you could think of anything I could do--anywhere I couldgo--" She stopped suddenly at a gesture from the old woman, who, liftingher hand to impress silence, stood a perfect picture of eager anxietyto hear. Bending down her head, old Catty stood for several secondsmotionless.
"Don't ye hear it now?" broke she in. "Listen! I thought I heerdsomething like a wailin' sound far off, but it is the wind. See how thetree-tops are bendin'!--That's three times I heerd it now," said Catty."If ye live to be as old as me, you 'll not think light of a warnin'.You think your hearin' better because you're younger; but I tell youthat there 's sounds that only reach ears that are goin' to where thevoices came from. When eyes grow dim to sights of this world, they arestrainin' to catch a glimpse of them that's beyond it." Although notears rose to her eyes, the withered face trembled in her agony, and herclasped hands shook in the suffering of her sorrow.
Against impressions of this sort, Kate
knew well enough how littlereasoning availed, and she forbore to press arguments which she wasaware would be unsuccessful. She tried, however, to turn the current ofthe old woman's thoughts, by leading her to speak of the condition ofthe country and the state of the people. Catty gave short, abrupt, andunwilling answers to all she asked, and Kate at length arose to take herleave.
"You're goin' away, are ye?" said Catty, half angrily.
"I have only just remembered that I have a long way to walk, and it isalready growing late."
"Ay, and ye 're impatient to be back again, at home, beside your ownfire, with your own people. But _she_ has no home, and her own hasdeserted her!"
"Mine has not many charms for me!" muttered Kate to herself.
"It's happy for you that has father and mother," went on the old woman."Them 's the only ones, after all!--the only ones that never loves theless, the less we desarve it! I don't wonder ye came back again!" And ina sort of envious bitterness Catty wished her a good-night.
If the distance she had to walk was not shortened by the tenor of herthoughts, as little did she feel impatient to press onward. Dreary andsad enough were her reveries. Of the wild visionary ambitions which oncehad stirred her heart, there remained nothing but disappointments. Shehad but passed the threshold of life to find all dreary and desolate;but perhaps the most painful feeling of the moment was the fact that nowpressed conviction on her, and told that in the humble career of such aone as Mary Martin there lay a nobler heroism and a higher devotionthan in the most soaring path of political ambition, and that all thetheorizing as to popular rights made but a sorry figure beside theactual benefits conferred by one true-hearted lover of her kind. "Sheis right, and I am wrong!" muttered she to herself. "In declining toentertain questions of statecraft she showed herself above, and notbeneath, the proud position she had taken. The very lowliness ofthis task is its glory. Oh, if I could but win her confidence and beassociated in such a labor! and yet my very birth denies me the prestigethat hers confers." And then she thought of home, and all the coldnessof that cheerless greeting smote upon her heart.
The moon was up ere Kate arrived at her father's door. She tapped atit gently, almost timidly. Her stepmother, as if expecting her, camequickly, and in a low, cautious whisper told her that she would find hersupper ready in her bedroom.
"To-morrow, perhaps, he may be in better humor or better spirits.Good-night." And so Kate silently stole along to her room, her proudheart swelling painfully, and her tearless eye burning with all the heatof a burning brain.