"I may return too late and"—
The door opened, and most opportunely the Colonel came in, for Kate was beginning to look at me with a certain startled expression, as if the truth was dawning on her, when accident, not my own self-command, saved me from breaking through the line of conduct I had myself laid down.
The next day was Christmas Day, and I knelt once more beside Kate Vernon in the old church, and heard her rich sweet notes as she joined in responses, or breathed the "Amen." And I felt the quiet absorbed attention with which she joined in the service communicate something of its earnestness to myself.
Mrs. O'Toole came in after we returned from church to show herself in her scarlet shawl.
"It's a grand colour entirely," said she, "as warm as your own heart, Captin jewil, an' it's the hard word to say good bye to ye; sorra one of me, but the salt tears is in me eyes when I think iv it."
Gilpin and the Winters dined with us that day; we had a pleasant cheerful dinner; I was determined to enjoy myself if possible, but it would not do, I was but seeming after all. I felt each passing moment was deepening the lines of my character; no wonder that the strongest exertion of my self command only sufficed to silence any expression that might damp my companions' mirth, but could not enable me to add my quota to the general stock; my only consolation was to look at Kate's smooth calm brow, and thank Heaven I had never attempted to raise any feeling in her breast, that could have resulted in the aching sadness which oppressed my own; she might have loved me, for hers was too loving a nature to be insensible of affection, and a true and earnest heart is always worth any woman's acceptance; and as I met her ready, unconcealed, and sympathising glance, that often and openly sought mine, I breathed a silent ejaculation, "God preserve her from sorrow and suffering!"
We had a good deal of music, much of it sacred, and appropriate to the day; but before we separated Kate sang the "Land of the Stranger;" it is little more than recitative, but the expression with which she sang it, and her full clear honied notes!—oh how impossible to write down, in so many measured words, the strong tide of mingled emotions and passionate wishes which swept across my soul as I listened to that voice!
But I will not dwell any longer on these last sweet painful days. Now, even now, writing in all the sobered calm of older years, I find my pen hurrying on in the vain effort to depict what language cannot convey.
Winter invited us to spend my last evening with him; I would have preferred far to have spent it uninterruptedly at the Priory, but it was not so! At the little supper, which as usual closed the entertainment, our good host proposed my health as follows:—
"I know you'll agree that the toast I'm about to give is one we can all drink with unalloyed satisfaction. I give you the health of one who has passed through the fire of fashion and frivolity, and yet kept a corner of his heart for truth and reality, and preserved enough of good taste to turn from a clique, of which I may fairly say, O t' ha ingannato, o ingannar ti vuole, to the more tangible world of action; one to whom we owe the existence of a valued friend (Carramba! Gilpin, it would have been all over with you but for him); in a word I give you, 'Fred Egerton.'"