"She looks a picture, a real pretty picture," thought he. "But our young miss would beat her on Polly. It does seem a pity she should be inside a carriage instead of outside a horse, though anybody might be proud to drive the like of Miss Kathleen. She's the image of her mother, and has a deal of her spirit too. No doubt the master saw it, and felt it would be best to make her promise as he did. Whether she likes it or not, he meant it for her good, and her poor mother paid dearly for breaking her word, though I don't suppose Miss Kathleen knows about that."
The coachman was right. Kathleen only knew that a few years ago, before the death of her father, he had exacted a promise from her to the effect that, so long as she remained unmarried, she would never join the Hollingsby or any other hunt.
"I say, so long as you are unmarried, Kathleen; for I hold that the wishes of the father, whether living or dead, must yield to those of the husband, when the daughter becomes a wife. But give me this promise, and a pledge that you will never appear on horseback, at meet or in the hunting-field, so long as you are Kathleen Mountford, and never after you change your name, except by the wish of your husband, and under his protection."
Kathleen readily gave the promise, which seemed a light one to the girl of fifteen. Mr. Mountford was ailing at the time, and she would have done anything in the world to give him pleasure. Then, after his death, and the contents of his will became known, the girl was hurt to find that Mr. Mountford had not contented himself with simply exacting a promise from her. He had attached certain penalties to any breach of Kathleen's pledge, and had she disobeyed his command, she would have paid for doing it by the loss of a large portion of her property.
Here was the sting of the whole affair.
"He might have trusted me," sobbed the girl. "I never broke my word to him, and now he is gone, a promise made to him is ever so much more sacred in my eyes. It will always be love for my father, not the thought of what I should lose, which will keep me from breaking my word, though he is no longer here to know that I do it."
A very thin thorn in the flesh will give pain quite out of proportion to its size. So with Kitty Mountford's grievance. Because it was a solitary one, it was perpetually making itself felt.
In a famous hunting county like Woldshire she was constantly reminded of it. All through the two last seasons she had writhed under the condolences of her unwise, but well-meaning friends. To one and all she gave jesting replies, answered with a ringing laugh, and made light of the whole affair.
"I am quite certain I should never care to join in a hunt, were I not prohibited from doing it. I am a daughter of Mother Eve, and my case is like hers. I have all but that one tree in my earthly paradise. I trust, nay, I feel sure, that I shall not follow Eve's example, in putting out my hand for the forbidden fruit."
Or Kathleen would vary her answer—