Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 1 (of 3) by Mrs. Alexander (any book recommendations .txt) 📕

The music was peculiar, and the last note of each verse sustained, and dying away with an expression of unutterable tenderness, made an indelible impression on me. "What a heart that girl must have," was my only clear idea, as I stood silent with folded arms, utterly unable to say a word of the exquisite pleasure she had afforded me.

"After that," said Winter, at the end of a chorus of applause, "not another word or note. Good night, Colonel; you Nightingale, la vostra bocca sana qual che tocca!"

I joined the others in making my adieus; heard[Pg 99] something about Mr. Winter calling on me the next day, and walked to my hotel, through the moonlit streets in a state of trance, lulled by the music and indescribable effect of the whole evening, into a delicious calm, which raised me pro tem. far above all sublunary interests.

[Pg 100]

How well I remember the philosophic contempt for wealth with which I awoke the following morning! Here, I thought, is grace, refinement, and good breeding, in unpretending guise, the very simplicity that surrounds them seems to give additional force to their effect—nothing appears out of place, no London bred cook or butler ever turned out a more delicious or better served repast, than[Pg 101] Vernon's dinner yesterday. What is the magic of all this? Winter is a curious specimen of humanity, yet he filled up his niche in the little party as no one else could; nor can I fancy him out of his element in any society. What an extraordinary contrast between Kate and that little deformed organist! Unfortunate creature, and yet he appears perfectly happy! With what empressement the old Colonel and his sweet granddaughter welcome him. And Kate herself, there is so much happiness in the calm repose of her countenance, and her brilliant smile; one would imagine her to be of fortune's favourites, the most favoured, yet what a life of complete retirement she must lead. She said she had not worn an evening dress for two years, till at that lucky ball. Is her society made up of a brace and a half of oddities and a big dog? I wonder how my sister Mary or Lady Georgina Lorton, or fifty others of my acquaintance, would stand such a life. They[Pg 102] talk of a couple of months at the family seat, as if it was a life-long banishment on some desolate island. Yes, it must be a terrible life for her, cut off from all the biens�ances of society—but where could I have spent so pleasant an evening? Where else have been so little bored by hacknied conversation? Thus I wandered through the vast field of speculation, opened up to my imagination by my yesterday's adventure. I could not bring myself to compassionate Vernon for his evident change of fortune, such a companionship and such a cottage must be well worth Dungar with all its beauties. Though, to be sure, he would have had Kate there; her manner, too, so unlike that of most women I had met. It never appeared to challenge admiration or to expect les petits soins; all was frank, cordial, kindly, real, yet monstrously unflattering to one's amour propre; though at times there was a tinge of coquetry in her way of evading, or turning into ridicule any attempt at a compliment.[Pg 103] She certainly is charming, and I must make the best of my time while I am here; I suppose I must return to-morrow, so—

"Mr. Winter"—said the waiter.

"Good morning, Captain Egerton," said that worthy personage, apparently through a thicker stratum of mashed potatoes than ever, "I thought I'd catch you before you started on any explorations."

"You are very good; I am particularly fortunate in securing such a cicerone."

"I am very happy to be of any use to you; sketching, I fancy, is not a common taste among men of your profession?"

"I have encountered a good many draughtsmen among my brothers in arms, and it is always a useful accomplishment for military men, but I do not think it is a common taste in my profession."

"No, the learned professions have no room for beauty in their crowded life, and the idleness of yours is generally too strenuous for—but I am blunt."

[Pg 104]

"You say but the truth, Mr. Winter; yet we are not on the whole as black as we are painted. Who is? This old town seems rich in antiquities."

"Yes, there is nothing in England like it, and, as Miss Vernon says, its solemn rugged towers and churches give the idea of a calm but stern old age after a stormy impetuous youth."

"How agreeable Colonel Vernon is; I was very glad to meet him again."

"Yes, he is a perfect specimen of a style fast disappearing. I always wish to see him at the head of some noble establishment, because I am a fool—much better for him as it is."

This was uttered with great impatience of manner, and I listened to it with no small amazement.

"Better?" I echoed.

"Yes, sir," reiterated Winter sharply, "it takes a severer bit to break a high mettled steed into useful paces than your half breeds require! But do you feel inclined for a stroll this morning?"

[Pg 105]

I replied in the affirmative, and we sallied forth together.

I walked on silently, revolving my companion's last sentence, and voting it terribly harsh, yet not liking to draw him into any discussion of it, as I felt instinctively that we viewed life through different media.

He led the way through a narrow gloomy street, overhung by the upper stories of the houses, and garnished with a species of gallery, to which these projections served as a roof.

"There," said he, pausing, "is the old residence of the Bishops of ——, and a very curious building it is."

I looked with great interest at the heavy carved gables, adorned with royal and episcopal arms, and divided into compartments containing carved representations of Adam and Eve, a tree and a serpent, all of equal dimensions, Cain and Abel, Balaam and his Ass, Abraham, in trunk hose, about to sacrifice Isaac on a small reading desk, with various other specimens of carving.[Pg 106] The wooden pillars supporting the fabric over the gallery I have mentioned were carved and twisted into the most grotesque and awsome shapes, which only some tortured spirit could have imagined!

"This alone is worth a visit," said I, after a long and curious gaze. "What may be the age of this building?"

"That is not easy to say. The initials on that centre scutcheon, 'J. R.,' you see, would lead us to suppose it was not older than the beginning of the seventeenth century, but it has always appeared to me that these letters and the coat of arms they surmount are of a more modern date than the other ornaments on the building or the building itself; but though I have searched some old chronicles I cannot satisfy myself on the subject."

"At all events it shall be No. 1 of my sketches. Have you no favourite theory as to its date?" I asked.

"No, I always endeavour to curb imagination."

"And you an artist!" said I.

[Pg 107]

"Yes," he replied, "in my studio imagination is a welcome guest, but even there she must submit to the bridle. She may create materials for a subject, but should never be allowed to tamper with those already in existence?"

"I do not like your view on this point; surely imagination is the source of much exquisite and innocent pleasure?"

"I see," said Winter, "you will side with my fair antagonist, Miss Vernon; she talks whole volumes of the prettiest fantasies on this subject, and never has patience to hear my solemn assurance that imagination, though a grand and glorious gift, requires strong coercion. But then we never agree, although we are fast friends."

"My dear Sir," I exclaimed, with some warmth, "you and I may require to rein up ours occasionally, but I do not suppose Miss Vernon's imagination ever presents any but the holiest images."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Winter, "ha! ha! Kate is a more than commonly good girl, but she's not[Pg 108] an angel;—I would not love her half so well if she was! And, take my advice, do not tell her your opinion of her, or in spite of her having nearly as brilliant a fancy as your own, she'll make you laugh at yourself!" I had too much savoir faire not to receive this sally with a smiling acknowledgment of its wisdom, although it grated on my feelings; and in my heart I experienced a sensation approximating to a lively hatred to my intelligent cicerone, who continued—"I have made several sketches of this old house, but I find that carved front does not tell well in a picture; large proportions, plenty of light and shade, are what we want for effect."

From this point a neighbouring flight of steps conducted us to the walls, from which we gazed on many a lovely picture; Winter expatiating on their peculiar beauties as a connoisseur dwells on the excellences of some oft-studied chef d'œuvre of art.

"As for the legends," said he, "in which every inch of this ground is rich, you must get Miss[Pg 109] Vernon to tell them to you; I would make a sad olla podrida of them were I to try; but she is perfect in it, and, with Gilpin's assistance, has acquired some large additions lately."

"That Mr. Gilpin seems an oddity," I observed.

"Yes, poor fellow! and yet if his form was as straight as his heart, you would find few as beautiful. It would be impossible to tell all the good he does, and that with the miserable stipend of an Organist. Carambo! he might put our pampered priests to the blush, if such a thing were