But it was now the young girl who was silent; with her head bent to her knees she sat at the feet of the governess; perhaps Lucy comprehended her thoughts by intuition, (I know not,) but at all events she did not wait long for a reply.
“I am a married woman already,” she said.
And now was Kitty all life and fire—up she sprung, exclaiming,
“Is he, then, your husband?”
“No, far from it,” was the answer which rolled back a cloud that threatened to make more than Hadé’s gloom in the soul of the pupil.
“I will tell you all, dear child; indeed, I will, for I can now—sit down.” She was obeyed. “To-night Eugene Lind, God bless him! has sent me a letter, the first received in months from my husband, Richmond Freer. Come nearer, Kitty, look up, I am sad no longer, even though I tell you he is exiled, he can never come back to old England again. But I am going to him. I am going very soon.” No, even at this sudden and most unexpected announcement, the listener would not lift her head. “When I was at school, in London, I wrote occasionally for a paper which Richmond edited; and by so doing I was able to help my poor, dear mother very much—and she was in need of help. After a while I became personally acquainted with the editor, and when at last he was arrested for publishing what was called an incendiary—a too patriotic a paper for these slavish times—you may be sure I did not forget to feel for him. After his trial was over, and the sentence of banishment was passed on him, we met again, for we loved each other, Kitty, and misfortune made him only dearer to me. The very night of his departure from England, his cousin, Eugene Lind, married us—and my poor mother was present at the ceremony; she would not oppose the union, wild as it doubtless seemed to her, because she knew that we were not fickle in our love, and felt that a bright time might at last come even to us. Shortly after the exile’s departure she died. I was left alone! When I had finished the course of studies, and was a graduate, owing to Eugene’s efforts, this situation of governess in your home was secured to me. May Heaven bless and make all your life happy, Kate; you have been kind and dear to me. For a long time Richmond lived on the Continent; but he did not prosper there—he has been very unfortunate, poor fellow! Now that he has gone to the New World, a pilgrim shorn of all things but my love, do you not see—I must go to him? He calls me—I must go; and what a glorious word is that must! Kitty, you will not ask me again if I love Eugene Lind, or I shall launch out into such praises of him as will astonish you.”
And thinking now but of one thing, that Lucy had certainly, in some unaccountable way, discovered her secret, Kitty sprung from her humble posture, she could not speak one word, but with a kiss she left the governess alone.
And oh, what a miserable little puss was she that live-long night. It was now all clear; she, the proud, lofty-hearted, impulsive Kate, stood in the eyes of another as having demanded his love—a beggar, imploring his hand in payment of the heart given him unasked. Hugh! what blackness of darkness was that which enveloped her now, body and spirit, as she sat through the night-hours pondering with burning brain on her wretched mistake. How hateful, how intrusive seemed the sunlight which at last streamed in upon her! How would he ever believe, how could he ever be told the ridiculous truth of the matter? For the very tenor of that philanthropic letter she had written, made it impossible for her to find or even seek a confidante in Lucy.
There was but one thought that could at all console the mourner; perhaps Eugene Lind would seek her hand some day, relying on the truth of what he imagined her declaration, and then how disdainfully she would spurn him—yes! if she died in the struggle, she would renounce him! Dear spirit of human pride, what a mighty thing thou art!
True to his expressed intention, Eugene visited Woodland Cottage the next day, and everyday until the departure of the governess; but Lucy and Mr. Clover alone received him. It was said in the house that Kitty, in her grief at parting with Lucy, had wept herself sick; and for some cause or other it was very evident that the gay girl was transformed into a “weeping maiden.”