Little Kitty Clover was the only child of her widowed father—“a fine old English gentleman, all of the olden time;” she was a blooming fairy of a girl, spoiled, of course, and worshiped, too—a very “household goddess.” Miserably educated had the young thing been; for—only think of it!—at sixteen years of age, she was as wild and free in spirit as a chamois, as brave as a chamois-hunter, and through the unpardonable neglect of those who had the care of her, she had been taught nothing whatever of sorrow, save the Dictionary definition—and that she could scarcely comprehend. At this age she was still under the care, or rather in the companionship, of a governess, Lucy Freer, a lady also young, indeed but two years older than her pupil; but she was a dignified, commanding personage, (and thus differed very much from Kitty;) a silent, sad, but remarkably handsome girl, who sometimes wept, and never laughed, (which was strange, for one would have thought that the spirit of mirth dwelling in Kitty was of an absolutely infectious nature;) but Lucy had the sweetest of smiles when she was pleased or happy, and that smile, with her unvarying goodness and talent, secured from the first, the warm love of her pupil.
As we have intimated, Kitty’s father had done all that he possibly could to spoil his daughter, and the labor in that way, it must be confessed, had been far from vain; but fortunately, nature had given the girl a warm, affectionate heart, and the training of her childhood had not tended to make her half so selfish and exacting as might in all reason have been expected. She was innately frank and noble; and there was a clear expression of her blue eyes, which told how honest and sincere she was in all her thoughts and doings.
Retired and unsuperficial as had been her way of life, poor Kitty! she found occasion to fall “desperately in love!”
Shortly after the governess made her home at Woodland Cottage, in C——, a gentleman from London came to call upon her. The pupil happened to be present at the interview, and she heard the stranger announce his intention of making his home in the village; and the great evident satisfaction of Lucy Freer, as she heard this determination, did not escape the observation of the keen-eyed Kitty; and having little else to think about for several days, she indulged in wonderment as to what kind of regard her governess could cherish for the handsome man, that she should be so very light of heart, so really joyous from the very moment of his appearing.
Eugene Lind, that was his name, was about thirty years of age, as fine looking, stately, and elegant a person as need be; he was a lawyer by profession, but still more of a poet by choice. As the only acquaintance he had in C—— was housed at Woodland, he became at once a frequent guest at the cottage, where he found always a genial host in Reginald Clover; but the truth must be said, that though the old man’s welcome was desirable, it was not him that the lawyer really went or cared to see. This became quite evident when, ere long, in view of his old friendship for Lucy, he made bold to push his way directly to the school-room, when his visits were made in the day hours, which was oftenest the case.
It was no very marvelous wonder that Kitty Clover, secluded as she was from the rest of the world, save that minute portion of it that dwelt in and just about her own home—it was no wonder, I say, that, in the course of time she should have begun to think quite as much of Mr. Lind as she did of her grammar and mathematics; that she should even prefer at last, greatly prefer, listening to his fine readings and conversation to any other amusement. But she did no more than listen, that is for a year, till she was sixteen, and then Kitty had become so accustomed to his presence, so cognizant of her own powers of speech, as to find it really possible to talk with, and to learn of him; and he was a wiser teacher than Lucy even, for he imparted a high charm to every book he laid his hands on—it became “tabooed” immediately to the child’s apprehension.
Ah! no longer did she sit then, a shy and silent creature, in the great bow-window, pretending to total abstraction from all things past, present, or future, save what she found in the dry pages of her book; but boldly, at least calmly, came she forward to sit beside her governess, to meet the glances of the poet-lawyer, to listen, and to speak with him and Lucy, as a sane and intelligent being.
And so it was that, day by day, and more and more thoroughly, she learned to love him; so it was that his words fell one by one, with creative power on her heart, till the most radiant and glorious flower sprung up there; but though its fragrance filled her life with a beauty which she felt, she could not comprehend it, did not at all understand it, till at last from wondering she passed to knowledge, as she wakened to see how very pale the governess was growing—how languidly she carried forward the work of instruction—how abstractedly she went about all her tasks—how she neglected totally the volumes which had once been her love companions—how she oftentimes wept—how dull and dispirited she was when Eugene Lind was not by, and how she invariably, for a moment at least, brightened up and smiled when he drew near.
And when poor Kitty’s eyes were opened, lovely reader, they seemed good for nothing in the world but to weep—just a vent for tears; for then she knew—she could not help knowing—that Lucy Freer loved the lawyer. And it was a terrible discovery to make, was it not—for now, the child, what right had she to think of him? She did not wonder for a moment whether or no the love of the governess was well-founded, whether or no he returned it; she could only say to herself, “he has visited her constantly, has exerted himself to be agreeable, and it’s all his own fault and doing—he has no right, and is too old to trifle so. Lucy is an orphan, and poor; she is beautiful and good enough—yes, even for him! I have a father, and am rich; he ought to love her, and he shall tell her he does.”
And so little Kate (recollect my world-fashioned lady, all this happened a long time ago, and she had learned her knowledge of life’s obligations only from wild romances) felt that a duty devolved on her which must be performed; and oh, how strenuously she labored, how dispassionately she reasoned with herself, that she might become strong to fulfill it!