“Oh, but papa, if you would only remember!” said Kate. “Papa,” she resumed, faltering, and drooping her head, “it came true—all your warning about—John.”
Mr Crediton gave a start, as if he had been shot. “About—John. What does this mean?” he cried, becoming alarmed. “What is it? I remember most things that concern you, but I don’t recollect anything particular I said.”
“Yes, papa; you warned me about—John. But it has not quite come true,” she added, lowering her voice, and leaning on him, with her head against his arm; “or rather, it has come more than true. Papa, don’t be angry. I came out on purpose to tell you. They are in a dreadful state about it. It is making poor Mrs Mitford quite ill. She thinks you will think they had some hand in it, but indeed they had not. Papa, dear, promise me you will not be angry. I—I am—engaged—to John.”
Mr Crediton was a very decorous, respectable man, not addicted to outbursts of passion, but at this wonderful announcement he swore a prodigious oath, and drew his arm away from her, giving her unawares a thrust aside which made her reel. Kate was so bewildered, so frightened, so dismayed by this personal touch that she blushed crimson the one moment, and the next began to cry. She stood gazing at him, with the big tears dropping, and the most piteous look in her eyes. “Oh, papa, don’t kill me!” she cried, in her consternation, sinking into the very hedge, in horror of his violence. Mr Crediton was so excited that he paid no attention to her cry of terror. “The d——d scoundrel!” he cried. “What! come in like this behind my back and rob me—take advantage of my sense of obligation—curse him! Curse them all! That’s your pious people!” And the man raved and blasphemed for five minutes at least, as if he had been his own groom, and not a respectable gentleman with grey hairs on his head, and the cares of half the county in his hands.
All this time Kate was too frightened to speak; but she was not the kind of girl to be long overwhelmed by such a fit of passion. She shrank back farther into the hedge, and grew as white as her dress, and trembled a good deal, and could not utter a word. But gradually her courage returned to her. Her heart began to thump less wildly against her breast, but rose and swelled instead with a force which was half self-will and half a generous sense of injustice. When Mr Crediton came to himself—which he did all at once with some very big words in his mouth, and his hand clenched in the air, and his face blazing with fury—he stopped short all at once, and cast an alarmed look at his daughter. Good heavens! he, a respectable man, to utter such exclamations, and in Kate’s presence! He came to himself all in a moment, and metaphorically fell prostrate before her with confusion and shame.
“Well,” he said, half fiercely, half humbly, “it is not much wonder if a man should forget himself. How do you dare to stand there and face me, and put such a thing into words?”
“Papa, I am very much surprised,” said Kate, her courage rising to the occasion. “I could not have believed it. It is best it should be me, and not a stranger, for what would any stranger have thought? But all the same, I am very sorry that it was me. I shall never be able to forget that I saw you look like that, and heard you say—— Ah!” said Kate, shutting her eyes. He thought she was going to faint, and got very much frightened; but nothing could be further from Kate’s mind than any intention of fainting. She sat down, however, on the grass, and leaned her elbows on her knees, and hid her face in her hands. And the unhappy father, conscious of having so horribly committed himself, stood silent, and did not know what to say.
Then, after a moment, she raised her head and looked him in the face. “Papa,” she said, “the people you have been abusing are waiting over there to welcome you to their house. They don’t like your coming, because they have a feeling what will happen; and they are very very vexed with their son for falling in love with me; and, poor fellow! I think he is vexed with himself, though he could not help it. What are you going to do? Are you going to swear at Dr Mitford, whose son saved your only child’s life, and whose wife saved it over again by her kindness, because they love me now as well? Are you going to drive me mad, and make me that I don’t care what I do? I am not so good as John is,” she said, with a half-sob; “if you cross me I will not be humble. I will go wrong, and make him go wrong too. You cannot change my mind by swearing at me, papa. What are you going to do?”
Yes, that was the question. It was very easy to storm and swear, with nobody present but his daughter. But Dr Mitford was as good a man as Mr Crediton, and as well known in the county, though he was not so rich. And John had saved Kate’s life at the risk of his own; and she had been taken in, and nursed, and brought back to perfect health; and there was no single house in the world to which Mr Crediton lay under such a weight of obligations. Was he to turn his back upon the house, and ignore all gratitude? Was he to go and insult them, or what was he to do? He was very angry, furious with Kate and her bold words, yet cowed by her in a way most wonderful to behold. “We had better walk back to the station; you are able enough for that, or at least you look so,” he said.