"Ah thin, it's the Divil's own divirsion," observed Mrs. O'Toole, who was removing the tea things.
Our conversation on my affairs continued in the same friendly and confidential tone for some time; then the Colonel dozed, and I, approaching nearer to Kate's work table, described my evening at Allerton with the deputation from the "Parent Society." She laughed a good deal at my sketch of the Rev. Mr. Black, and said she thought she remembered him at A——. Then she told me how Mr. Winter had painted a chef d'œuvre—"The Little Landing Place," with its trees, Elijah Bush in his hairy cap, Cyclops and Cormac; and that Mrs. Winter and Miss Araminta Cox had had a quarrel, but that she had happily reconciled them; and lastly, with much earnestness in her manner, and tenderness in her tones, she spoke of Gilpin's failing health and loneliness.
"I cannot tell you, Captain Egerton, how very fond he appears to be of you, more so, even, than gratitude can account for, as if you had many sympathies in common; yet you are as unlike in character as in appearance. I am glad he likes you," she concluded, simply.
All this gossip of her little world was told in a subdued tone, not to disturb her grandfather, and so added to the sort of confidence apparently existing between us.
What an extraordinary mélange of feelings I experienced! I was within sight of paradise, as it were—I could almost grasp it, but an invisible though iron barrier held me back, so I talked on, quietly wondering at my own self-command; and sometimes, when restoring the scissors or a skein of worsted I had unconsciously abstracted from her basket, my hand would touch hers; once, on one of these occasions, she looked up and said—"How very cold you are, do stir the fire and warm yourself." I do not know what I should have said or done, had not the Colonel at that moment awoke up, shocked at his want of politeness. Then Kate went to the piano and sang song after song in her rich, soft, thrilling notes, and depth of expression, until I felt in a sort of painful ecstasy, which must in some way have been traceable on my countenance, for the Colonel suddenly stopped his granddaughter, observing how fagged I looked:
"You must go to your bed, Egerton, and don't hurry in the morning."
"Yes," said Kate, looking at me kindly, as she rang for candles, "you look quite knocked up, I'm afraid I have kept you too long from your rest."
"Maybe he ought to have wather for his feet, he looks like a ghost," said Mrs. O'Toole, in an audible aside to her young lady.
"Perhaps it might refresh you," said the latter.