CHAPTER II.
HOW KITTY MADE ENGAGEMENTS.
The day after the funeral, Sir Robert Levett himself walked to theVicarage in the afternoon, and found the girl still in the garden, onher favourite seat. As soon as she looked into his kind face she burstinto fresh tears.
"Cry on, pretty," he said, sitting beside her, and with a tear in hisown eye. "Cry on: to cry is natural. Thou hast lost the best and mostChristian father that ever girl had; therefore cry on till thou arttired. Let the tears fall. Don't mind me. Out handkerchief. So gooda scholar shall we never see again. Cry on, if thou hast only justbegun, should it bring thee comfort. Nor ever shall we hear so good apreacher. When thou hast finished let me have my say. But do not hurry."
Even at the very saddest, when tears flow as unceasingly as thefountains in the Land of Canaan, the sight of an elderly gentlemansitting on a bench beneath a mulberry-tree, his hat beside him, his wigin his hands for coolness, his stick between his legs, and his facecomposed to a decent position, waiting till one had finished, would beenough to make any girl stop crying. Kitty felt immediately inclined tolaugh; dried her eyes, restrained her sobs, and pulled out her father'swill, which she gave to Sir Robert to read.
He read it through twice, slowly, and then he hummed and coughed beforehe spoke--
"A good man, Kitty child. See that thou forget not his admonitions. Iwould he were here still to admonish us all. Sinners that we were, toheed his voice no better. And now he is gone--he is gone. Yet he was ayounger man than I, by ten years and more, and I remain." Here he puton his wig, and rose. "As for this money, child, let us lose no timein making that safe, lest some thief should rob thee of it. A hundredguineas! And twenty more with Farmer Goodpenny! And this money waitingat the publishers![A] Verily thou art an heiress indeed!"
In the bedroom, at the head of the great bed, they found beneath themattress a long narrow box secretly let into the panel close to thegreat cross-beam. I say secretly, but it was a secret known to allthe world. Carpenters always made those secret hiding-places in beds,so that had there been a robber in the house he would have begun bysearching in that place. Sir Robert knew where to find the spring, andquickly opened the box.
Within it lay two canvas bags, tied up. Could bags so little hold sogreat a sum! Sir Robert tossed them into his pockets as carelessly asif they were bags of cherries.
"Now, little maid," said he, sitting on the bed, "that money is safe;and be sure that I shall call on Farmer Goodpenny to-morrow. Let meknow what is to be done about thy father's wish that thou shouldst goto London?"
"It is his injunction, sir," said Kitty gravely. "I must obey his will."
"Yet thy father, child, did not know London. And to send a younggirl like thyself, with a bag of guineas about thy neck, to ask in acoffee-house for the address of a clergyman is, methinks, a wild-goosesort of business. As for Dr. Shovel, I have heard the name--to be sure,it cannot be the same man----" he stopped, as if he would not tell mewhat it was he had heard.
"It is my father's command," she repeated.
"Unless nothing better should be found. Now, London is a dangerousplace, full of pitfalls and traps, especially for the young andinnocent. We are loth to lose thee, Kitty; we are afraid to let theego. Nothing will do for Lady Levett but that thou remain with us andNancy."
This was a generous offer, indeed. Kitty's eyes filled with tearsagain, and while she stood trying to find words of gratitude, and todecline the offer so as not to appear churlish, madam herself camerunning up the stairs, in her garden hat and plain pinner, and fell tokissing and crying over the girl.
Then she had to be told of the will and last commands.
"To be sure," she said, "thy father's commands must be respected andobeyed. Yet I know not whether it would not be well to disobey them.Kitty, my dear, stay with us and be my daughter, all the same as Nancy.I do not ask thee to enter my service, or to receive wages, or to dowork for me any other than a daughter may."
Kitty shook her head again. She was truly grateful; there was no one sokind as her ladyship; but she must go to London as her father bade her.
"Why," cried Sir Robert, "the child is right. Let her go. But if sheis unhappy with her friends, or if she is in any trouble, let her knowwhere to look for help."
"There may be cousins," said madam, "who will find thee too prettyfor their own faces, and would keep thee at home with the towels anddusters and napkins. I would not have our Kitty a Cinderella--thoughhouse-service is no disgrace to a gentlewoman. Or there may be mannersand customs of the house that a young girl should disapprove. Or theremay be harsh looks instead of kind words. If that is the case, Kitty,come back to us, who love thee well, and will receive thee with kissesand joy."
Then they left her in the empty house, alone with Deborah, the houseservant.
She was looking over her father's books, and taking out one or twowhich she thought she might keep in memory of him (as if anything wereneeded) when she heard steps, and Deborah's voice inviting some one toenter.
It was Harry Temple: he stood in the doorway, his hat in his hand, andunder his arm a book.
"I was meditating in the fields," he said, "what I should say to KittyPleydell, in consolation for her affliction. The learned Boethius----"
"O Harry!" she cried, "do not talk to me of books. What can they say tocomfort any one?"
He smiled. Harry's smile showed how much he pitied people not solearned as himself.
"The greatest men," he said, "have been comforted by books. Cicero, forinstance.... Nay, Kitty, I will not quote Cicero. I came to say that Iam sorry indeed to learn that we shall lose thee for a time."
"Alas!" she said, "I must go. It is my father's order."
"I am sure," he replied, "that you would not leave us for a lighterreason. You know our hearts, Kitty, and how we all love you."
"I know----" Kitty began to cry again. Everybody was so full of loveand pity. "I know, Harry. And perhaps I shall never n--n--never see youagain."
"And does that make this parting harder?" He turned very red, and laidhis precious book of consolation on the table.
"Why, of course it does," she replied, wiping her eyes.
"You _shall_ see us again," he went on earnestly. "You shall come backwith me. Kitty, I will give you one twelvemonth of absence. You know Ilove you tenderly. But your father's commands must be obeyed. Thereforefor a whole year I shall not seek you out. Then, when I come for you,will you return with me, never to go away again?"
"Oh!" she cried, clasping her hands, "how joyfully will I return!"
The young man took her hand and raised it to his lips.
"Divine maid!" he cried. "Fit to grace a coronet, or to make the homeof a simple gentleman an Arcadia of pastoral pleasure!"
"Do not mock me, Harry," she said, snatching away her hand, "with idlecompliments. But forget not to come and carry me away."
"Alas!" he said; "how shall I exist--how bear this separation fortwelve long months? Oh, divine Kitty! Thou will remain an ever-presentidea in my heart."
"Harry," she burst out laughing in her tears, "think of the learnedBoethius!"
So he left her.
In half an hour another visitor appeared.
This time it was Will. He was in his usual careless disorder; hisscarlet coat a good deal stained, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his wigawry, his boots dusty, his neckerchief torn, his hands and cheeksbrowned by the sun. He carried a horsewhip, and was followed byhalf-a-dozen dogs, who came crowding into the room after him.
"So," he said, sitting down and leaning his chin upon his whipstock,"thou must go, then?"
"What do you want with me, Will?" she asked, angry that he should showso little sympathy.
"Why," he replied, rubbing his chin with the whipstock, "not much,Kitty. Nancy will come to cry."
"Then you can go away, Will."
"I came to say, Kitty, that though you do be going to go" (Will easilydropped into country talk), "I shanna forget thee. There!"
&
nbsp; "Thank you, Will."
"As for the matter of that, I love thee--ah! like I love old Roverhere."
"Thank you again, Will."
"And so I've brought along a sixpence--here it is--and we'll break ittogether." Here he bent and broke the coin with his strong fingers."My half goes into my pocket--so; and the other half is thine--there."He threw it on the table. "Well, that's done." He stood up, looked atme sorrowfully, and heaved a great sigh. "I doubt I've a done wrong.Hadst been going to stay, a' woulden a' spoke yet awhile. Liberty issweet--girls are skittish. Well, we'll take a twelvemonth yet. There'sno hurry. Plenty time before us. I shall have my liberty for thatwhile. Mayhap I will fetch thee in the spring. Ay, May's the bestmonth to leave the dogs and the birds, though the vermin will begin toswarm--rot 'em! Come, Rover. Good-bye, wench."
He gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek, and turned away.
The girl laughed. She did not pick up the broken sixpence, which,indeed, she hardly noticed, her mind being full of many things.
Presently Nancy came, and the two girls spent a miserable eveningtogether, in great love and friendship.
Now, how could an ignorant country girl, who had never thought overthese things at all, guess that she had engaged herself to be married,in one day, in one hour even, to two different men? Yet that wasexactly what this foolish Kitty had actually done.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] When, some months later, Kitty went to the publisher, thatgentleman informed her that there was no money to receive, because hehad been a loser by the publication of the books.
The Chaplain of the Fleet Page 3