"Is it your ship come in?" asked Katrine gaily: for he was wont to say he would do this or that when "his ship came home."
"No, Katrine; not much chance of that. Let me see what he says."
""Dear Reste,--I enclose you my debt at last. The other side have come to their senses, and given in, and paid over to me instalment the first.
Thank you, old friend; you are a good fellow never to have bothered me.
Let me know your movements when you write back; I ask it particularly.
Ever yours, W. A."
"Well, I never expected that," cried Mr. Reste, as he read the words aloud.
"Money lent by you, Edgar?" asked Mr. Barbary.
"Yes; three or four years ago. I had given it up as a bad job. Never thought he would gain his cause."
"What cause? Who is he?"
"Captain Amphlett, of the Artillery, and an old friend of mine. As to the cause, it was some injustice that his avaricious relatives involved him in, and he had no resource but to bring an action. I am glad he has gained it; he is an honest fellow, no match for them in cunning."
Mr. Reste was counting the notes while he spoke; six of them for ten pounds each. Katrine happened to look at her father, and was startled at the expression of his face--at the grasping, covetous, _evil_ regard he had fixed upon the notes. She felt frightened, half sick, with some vague apprehension. Mr. Reste smoothed the notes out one by one, and laid them open on the breakfast cloth in a little stack. While doing this, he caught Mr. Barbary"s covetous look.
"You"d like such a windfall yourself," he said laughingly to his host.
"I should. For _that_ a man might be tempted to smother his grandmother."
Katrine instinctively shuddered, though the avowal was given in a half jesting tone. A prevision of evil seized her.
CARAMEL COTTAGE
II.--DISAPPEARANCE
I
October was setting in beautifully. Some people say it is the most lovely month in the year when the skies are blue and genial.
Seated at the breakfast-table at Caramel Cottage that Tuesday morning, with the window thrown open to the warm, pleasant air, the small party of three might have enjoyed that air, but for being preoccupied with their own reflections. Edgar Reste was thinking of the bank-notes which the postman had just brought him in Captain Amphlett"s letter; Katrine Barbary sat shrinking from the vague fear imparted to her by the curious avowal her father had made in language not too choice, as his covetous eyes rested on the money: "For that, a man might be tempted to smother his grandmother." While Mr. Barbary had started instantly up and flung the window higher, as if in the silence that followed the words, they had struck back upon himself unpleasantly, and he sought to divert attention from them.
"A grand day for the outlying crops," he remarked, his lithe, slender form, his pale, perfect features showing out well in the light of the brilliant morning. "But most of the grain is in, I think. We shall have a charming walk to Church Leet, Edgar."
"Yes," a.s.sented Mr. Reste, as he folded the notes together and placed them in his pocket-book. There were six of them for 10 each.
Breakfast over, Katrine set off for d.y.k.e Manor that morning as usual, to talk to Lena in French, and teach her to read it. She stayed luncheon with us. Chancing to say that her father and his guest were gone to Church Leet, Mrs. Todhetley kept her.
At four o"clock, when Katrine went home, she found they had returned, and were then shut up in the gun-room. Katrine could hear the hum of their voices, with now and again a burst of merry laughter from Edgar Reste.
"Have they had dinner?" she enquired of Joan.
"Ay, sure they have, Miss Katrine. They got back at two o"clock, and I prepared the dinner at once."
I had lent Katrine that afternoon the "Vicar of Wakefield,"--which she said she had never read; one could hardly believe such a thing of an English girl, but I suppose it was through her having lived over in France. Taking it into the back garden, she sat down on a rustic bench, one or two of which stood about. By-and-by Edgar Reste came out and sat down beside her.
"Had you a nice walk to-day?" she asked.
"Very," he answered. "What a quaint little village Church Leet is!
Hardly to be called a village, though. Leet Hall is a fine old place."
"Yes, I have heard so. I have not seen it."
"Not seen it! Do you mean to say, Katrine, that you have never been to Church Leet?"
"Not yet. n.o.body has ever invited me to go, and I cannot walk all that way by myself, you know."
He was sitting sideways, his left arm leaning on the elbow of the bench, his kindly, luminous brown eyes fixed on her fair pretty face, all blushes and dimples. Ah, if fortune had but smiled upon him!--if he might but have whispered to this young girl, who had become so dear to him, of the love that filled his whole heart!
"Suppose you walk over with me one of these fine days before I leave?"
he continued. "It won"t be too far for you, will it?"
"Oh no. I should like to go."
"There is the prettiest churchyard you ever saw, to rest in. And such a quaint little church, covered with ivy. The Rectory, standing by, is quite a grand mansion in comparison with the church."
"And the church has a history, I believe."
"Ay, as connected with the people of the Hall and the Rectory; and with its own chimes, that never played, I hear, but disaster followed. We will go then, Katrine, some afternoon between now and Sat.u.r.day."
Her face fell; she turned it from him. "_Must_ you leave on Sat.u.r.day, Edgar?"
"My dear little cousin, yes. Cousins in name, you know we are, though not in reality."
"You did say you might stay until Monday."
"Ay, my will would be good to stay till Monday, and many a Monday after it: but you see, Katrine, I have neglected my work too long, and I cannot break into another week. So you must please make the most of me until Sat.u.r.day," he added playfully, "when I shall take the evening train."
"You English do not care to travel on a Sunday, I notice."
"We English! Allow me to remind Mademoiselle that she is just as much English as are the rest of us."
Katrine smiled.
"My good mother instilled all kinds of old-world notions into me, Katrine. Amongst them was that of never doing week-day work on a Sunday unless compelled by necessity."
"Do you never work on a Sunday--at your reviews and writings, and all that?"
"Never. I am sure it would not bring me luck if I did. Suppose we fix Thursday for walking to Church Leet?"