London at the close of November! Can the force of human imagination conceive anything half so gloomy and dispiriting? And certainly the dreary weeks I spent there at this period have ever ranked first in my remembrance of wretchedness: the damp, drizzling, foggy condition of animate and inanimate nature—the deserted streets haunted by long strings of decrepid placard bearers whose rheumatic forms seemed bowed under the huge capitals setting forth Mons. Jullien's concerts d'hiver, &c. My days were pretty equally divided between my lawyer and army agent, varied by a good deal of letter writing, and a solitary dinner at the desolate Club. Towards the middle of this purgatorial period, the regiment I was soon to call mine no more got the route for Canterbury; and Burton, like a trump as he was, came up to town to hear a fuller account of my troubles than a letter could give, and to see the most he could of me before I started to the land of military promise. He was a true-hearted fellow, and the sincere, unpretending interest with which he entered into my plans—I will not say hopes, for God knows I felt little then—did me more real good, and drew me more out of myself than the most elaborate efforts at consolation could have effected. Finally, when just about to leave me one night after a long talk over my affairs, and half out of the room, he observed, "You know, old fellow, I have always been prudent, and if a few hundred pounds would be of any use to you, I would be glad of a little higher interest—they only pay two and a half at present—and the whole thing might lie over until you get some prize money in India, when I will be down on you inexorably for the compound interest, principal, and all. Now do not stir, I know my way down; we will talk it over to-morrow."

He was away before I could say a word.

"Come," thought I, as I turned to the fire, "it is worth while to bear the crosses of this world of ours, when it contains even one such fellow as that to leaven the whole lump."

Yet not even to Burton could I bear to talk of the bitter struggle it cost me to part with Kate Vernon as little more than a common acquaintance. It was weakness in me to think of it, and (I am glad I can record so much good of myself) it was a source of sincere rejoicing to me when I reflected that Miss Vernon, at all events, could not suffer from the painful regret I felt gnawing my troubled spirit.

I wrote to Colonel Vernon from London, telling him shortly of the reasons which rendered my exchange into a Regiment in India indispensable, opening my mind to him as to a father, concluding by begging him to let me spend my last few days in England under his roof, as I wished to keep the visit to be a parting impression of home. To Winter I also wrote, less fully, and lastly to Gilpin. This little primitive group, scarce five months known to me, had wound itself into my sympathies, and now, with the exception of Burton, from them alone, of all the variety of my acquaintance, was it hard to part.

"I was beginning to feel puzzled at your long silence," wrote the Colonel, in reply. "You have fully explained, and if the assurance of an old soldier's perfect approbation has any value in your eyes, accept mine; you will be truly welcome here whenever you can come; give us a day's notice, and if you have no objection to a diminutive crib, and a haunted chamber, Mrs. O'Toole says we can keep you altogether under our roof. Kate desires her kind remembrances; she was delighted with your letter, which I hope I was not indiscreet in letting her see, &c." The kindly tone of this letter soothed me, and made me long to be once more among the quiet circle with whom my previous life had so little fitted me to sympathise; I hurried my preparations, and stirred up my agent so effectually, that early in December the Gazette announced "Captain the Hon. Boscawen Egerton from the —— Light Dragoons, to be Captain in the —— Lancers, vice John Thomas Robinson Brown, who exchanges."

The Regiment had not been long in India, and was stationed in the North Western Provinces, where I could have the best chance of seeing a little service.

A few final interviews with the military tailor; a parting visit to, and dinner from my old corps, who really seemed sorry to lose me; my heavy baggage dismissed to Southampton, to await the sailing of the ship in which I was to go out, and I was free to give my last week in England to A——, and its attractions.

I had reserved a curious old picture, the painter unknown, which had been praised by judges; and a Louis Quatorze snuff-box with an exquisite miniature of La Valliere in enamel, from the general disposal of my miscellaneous effects; they were destined for Winter and the Colonel. Tupper's "Proverbial Philosophy," I thought would not be unacceptable to Kate; together with all the prettiest new music I could collect, and several oratorios in Moyen age binding, for Gilpin; and Mrs. O'Toole! could she be forgotten? No! I ransacked Regent Street, for the brightest of scarlet shawls; while mindful of the occupation I had so often watched Mrs. Winter engaged in, Howel and James furnished a handsome buhl knitting case, with a Turquoise button, for her acceptance.

My preparations finished, though not without a certain aching of the heart, I took my way for the last time, to the old city of A——; yet pleasure predominated over pain, as I thought of a whole week with Kate Vernon. I had despatched a line to say I would be with them to dinner on the following day, and the speed of an express train did not suffice for the impatience with which I longed to be once more surrounded with the familiar faces now so endeared to me. I felt jealous of every moment curtailed from the short space of happiness I had so looked forward to; and I believe the driver of the cab that conveyed me from the railway to the Priory thought me insane, so reiterated were my injunctions to drive faster, faster! It was near six o'clock when I drove up to the well-known arched gate; a sharp clear evening; the breath of the panting horse showing like light smoke in the transparent air; I sprang out, while the cabman was stamping his feet, after ringing, and pushing the gate open with the familiarity of an old friend, nearly rushed into the arms of Mrs. O'Toole, who was advancing to open it.

I could see the Colonel's venerable figure in the hall, which was lighted by a pretty antique lamp, and behind him the drawing-room door stood open, showing the curtains snugly drawn, and a ruddy glow pervading the atmosphere of the room, which bespoke a noble fire somewhere.

"Musha, but ye'r welcome, Captin; an' are ye shut of the sickness entirely? There's the Masther longing to spake to ye; never mind the portmanty; give me a hoult of that carpet bag."

"Welcome, a thousand welcomes, my dear Egerton," cried Colonel Vernon, "you are in excellent time, yet we were beginning to watch for you."

We shook hands with intense cordiality, and mine was scarcely released, when something cold and damp was thrust into it; it was the fine old hound seconding his master's greeting.

"From the moment I started to the present, I have ceaselessly abused railways, stokers, engine-drivers, and all, for not going the pace more rapidly. I really thought I should never be with you soon enough; it seems such an age since we met, and I have done so much in the interim," said I. As I followed him into the drawing-room, there stood Kate in a distracting demi-toilette of white muslin, with some scarlet ribbons admirably disposed, and lighted up by the blaze of a noble fire that looked "Welcome," like every thing else.

"Ah! how glad I am to see you are come; I thought you would go away without paying us your promised visit, it was so long delayed." And once more I held her fair soft hand; once more I gazed into her clear truthful eyes that looked up to mine with so much gladness through their long sweeping lashes.

"Go, without paying my promised visit, Miss Vernon!" was my only reply, but I suppose the tone in which it was spoken, expressed how impossible such an omission was to me, for she said with a smile, as she drew away her hand, "I suppose, then, you would not have liked to leave us, sans adieu; but grandpapa, Captain Egerton has barely time to make his toilet, it is just six o'clock."

The Colonel, with old fashioned empressement, lighted me to my chamber, a little dark-panelled cell with some rude remnants of carving here and there, and one small window sunk deep in the wall. A cheerful fire blazed in what had once been a wide chimney, but which was now walled up into reasonable dimensions.

"This is the oldest part of the house," said my host; "we used it as a sort of lumber room till Kate and Nurse decided on trying to make it habitable for you; we none of us liked the idea of despatching you every night to an hotel, at this time of the year particularly; have you every thing you want?"

I thought the Priory Cottage never looked so delightfully homelike as in its winter aspect; and the pleasant candle-light dinner, to the agreeability of which Mrs. O'Toole added largely, joining in the conversation with greater ease than ever, pressing any particularly well cooked dish, as earnestly on me as if I too had been her nursling. Cormac sat gravely by Kate, accepting the bits she occasionally offered him with dignified condescension.

"On Sundays and a few great occasions, such as the present," she said with a smile, "Cormac was admitted to the dining room, but the drawing room was forbidden ground to him, he knew it quite well."

We soon adjourned to the drawing room, and as I stood on the hearth rug sipping my tea, and looking at Kate and her grandfather, sitting at opposite sides of the table, both so distinguished in their looks and manners, yet both so unlike the common herd of mere well bred people, I kept down the bitter sighs that oppressed my heart as the thought, "You must leave them and for ever," seemed to burn and fix itself indelibly on my brain.

After some enquiries about the Winters and Gilpin, who, I was sorry to hear, had not been so well, Miss Vernon observed I still looked pale and thin.

"You certainly suffered for your generous effort to save our poor friend," she added; "I can never forget your rushing back under the tottering ruins, and that awful crash!" She shuddered.

"Yes, indeed, Egerton, you look a little haggard; don't you feel strong?" enquired the Colonel.

"Why you see, Colonel, I have been a good deal cut up about all this business, and to say the truth I do not like leaving England."

"That must be because you are still suffering from the debility of indisposition," said Miss Vernon, "or such a lover of excitement as you are would be enchanted at the idea of India, and its tiger hunts, and cave temples, with a possibility of shooting or being shot."

"So I would four or five months ago; now I am paying dearly for extravagance."

"Do not be so severe on yourself; few young men can quite resist temptation," said the Colonel, kindly.

"I wonder what is the pleasure of betting; it seems very absurd," said Miss Vernon.

"How could you know anything about it?" enquired her grandfather.

"Ah thin, it's the Divil's own divirsion," observed Mrs. O'Toole, who was removing the tea things.

Our conversation on my affairs continued in the same friendly and confidential tone for some time; then the Colonel dozed, and I, approaching nearer to Kate's work table, described my evening at Allerton with the deputation from the "Parent Society." She laughed a good deal at my sketch of the Rev. Mr. Black, and said she thought she remembered him at A——. Then she told me how Mr. Winter had painted a chef d'oeuvre—"The Little Landing Place," with its trees, Elijah Bush in his hairy cap, Cyclops and Cormac; and that Mrs. Winter and Miss Araminta Cox had had a quarrel, but that she had happily reconciled them; and lastly, with much earnestness in her manner, and tenderness in her tones, she spoke of Gilpin's failing health and loneliness.

"I cannot tell you, Captain Egerton, how very fond he appears to be of you, more so, even, than gratitude can account for, as if you had many sympathies in common; yet you are as unlike in character as in appearance. I am glad he likes you," she concluded, simply.

All this gossip of her little world was told in a subdued tone, not to disturb her grandfather, and so added to the sort of confidence apparently existing between us.

What an extraordinary mÉlange of feelings I experienced! I was within sight of paradise, as it were—I could almost grasp it, but an invisible though iron barrier held me back, so I talked on, quietly wondering at my own self-command; and sometimes, when restoring the scissors or a skein of worsted I had unconsciously abstracted from her basket, my hand would touch hers; once, on one of these occasions, she looked up and said—"How very cold you are, do stir the fire and warm yourself." I do not know what I should have said or done, had not the Colonel at that moment awoke up, shocked at his want of politeness. Then Kate went to the piano and sang song after song in her rich, soft, thrilling notes, and depth of expression, until I felt in a sort of painful ecstasy, which must in some way have been traceable on my countenance, for the Colonel suddenly stopped his granddaughter, observing how fagged I looked:

"You must go to your bed, Egerton, and don't hurry in the morning."

"Yes," said Kate, looking at me kindly, as she rang for candles, "you look quite knocked up, I'm afraid I have kept you too long from your rest."

"Maybe he ought to have wather for his feet, he looks like a ghost," said Mrs. O'Toole, in an audible aside to her young lady.

"Perhaps it might refresh you," said the latter.

"Oh! I am as strong as a giant now," said I, "thanks to your good care, Mrs. O'Toole; and if I look like a ghost it will fit me the better for the society in which you know I am to pass the night."

"Holy Mary! Captin agrah, don't spake that away of the dead!"

"Good night," said Kate.

"After your benediction, Miss Vernon, I am equal to any ghostly encounter! good night."

My first waking thought was the delightful certainty of meeting Kate at breakfast, and my second, that one day of my sojourn had already flown. With what terrible rapidity these precious last days made themselves wings and fled away into the past! I cannot dwell upon the memory of them.

I examined with great delight and loud eulogiums, the really admirable picture on which Winter was now engaged, and acknowledged that Cyclops was a first-rate subject.

"I have another here, not quite finished either," said he, "which you may perhaps think equally interesting," and he turned round a water-colour drawing. I started as it met my sight; it was Kate Vernon, sitting as was her custom, at the open window of the cottage, her cheek resting on her left hand, showing the graceful contour of her throat, and her right playing as she was wont to do, when lost in thought, with Cormac's ear; while the old hound sat gazing at her as though he would fain ask what vision engrossed her fancy. It was a most lovely picture; the lovelier for its admirable likeness to the original. How well I knew that pensive and abstracted air; the large eyes gazing dreamily into some imaginary world; the delicate, but rosy lips slightly apart; you almost expected to hear them breathe the gentle sigh with which she used to rouse herself from her reverie, and turn to tell you its subject, so truthfully and naturally. "Oh! Winter," I exclaimed, "can love or money induce you to let me take the faintest sketch of this most exquisite picture?"

He looked sharply at me, "No! no! most noble Captain, it was a labour of love, and I'll not have my beautiful pupil's lofty brow, decking the wall of a barrack room. Keep the portrait in your own heart; it may prove a talisman, but I fear the colours will fade as fast as one of Turner's most glowing pictures."

I hardly heard him as I stood; my eyes fixed on the face I was so soon to lose, as if I would stamp its lineaments indelibly on my memory; he went on—"What business would you have with Miss Vernon's likeness?"

"True, true, oh! hard of heart; yet with me it would be a sacred thing. No, do not put it away yet. Oh! skill in portrait painting is the only talent really worth cultivating. I wish to Heaven I had it! Winter, in the whole category of human ills, is there one can surpass the wretchedness of saying good bye?"

"Yes, regret, when too late, that you did not say it. Capitano mio, È meglio sdrucciolar' co' piedi che colla lingua."

The kind little artist was enchanted with the picture I brought him. It was a monk kneeling before an altar, on which the candles were burning, and the light and shade were skilfully disposed; he shook my hand repeatedly, and plunged into a learned disquisition as to the probable master by whom it was painted: he immediately invited the whole party at the Priory to dine with him, in order to discuss fully the important question of placing my gift, which he designated by the name of the giver rather incongruously.

I waited to give Kate "Proverbial Philosophy" till I could find her alone; and returning one morning from a visit to Gilpin, I found the Colonel had disappeared on some behest, and Miss Vernon in solitary possession of the drawing-room; she was working something in a frame, but the open piano proved she had been engaged in her favourite pursuit.

I threw myself into the Colonel's chair, and answered her enquiries for Gilpin; then, after a pause, stood up, and leaning against the mantel piece, said, "Miss Vernon, I met with a book in London I thought would suit you; 'Proverbial Philosophy,' have you seen it? I thought you would like it."

She stretched out her hand to receive the volume.

"Is it for me? Oh thank you! I have so much wished to have it; I shall read it with pleasure, I am sure, and give many a grateful thought to the donor."

"That is more than I would presume to expect, and I suspect the pains or pleasures of memory will fall to my share."

"No, it is those who stay at home who remember best; new scenes bring new thoughts; but I wish, Captain Egerton, we could see you start with better spirits on your travels."

"Higher spirits! how can you suppose I do not grudge every moment that brings the hour of separation nearer?"

She looked up at me as I stood leaning moodily against the mantel-piece.

"But all men must some time or other go forth amongst strangers, and few seem to regret it as you do."

"Not when they leave behind all they covet on earth—not when they must go in silence and say good bye, with a calm face and a breaking heart?"

"Oh!" cried Miss Vernon, clasping her hands, "that is terrible! God comfort such a sorrow! but at your age there is always hope; you will return, and what are a few years to a true heart?"

"I may return too late and"—

The door opened, and most opportunely the Colonel came in, for Kate was beginning to look at me with a certain startled expression, as if the truth was dawning on her, when accident, not my own self-command, saved me from breaking through the line of conduct I had myself laid down.

The next day was Christmas Day, and I knelt once more beside Kate Vernon in the old church, and heard her rich sweet notes as she joined in responses, or breathed the "Amen." And I felt the quiet absorbed attention with which she joined in the service communicate something of its earnestness to myself.

Mrs. O'Toole came in after we returned from church to show herself in her scarlet shawl.

"It's a grand colour entirely," said she, "as warm as your own heart, Captin jewil, an' it's the hard word to say good bye to ye; sorra one of me, but the salt tears is in me eyes when I think iv it."

Gilpin and the Winters dined with us that day; we had a pleasant cheerful dinner; I was determined to enjoy myself if possible, but it would not do, I was but seeming after all. I felt each passing moment was deepening the lines of my character; no wonder that the strongest exertion of my self command only sufficed to silence any expression that might damp my companions' mirth, but could not enable me to add my quota to the general stock; my only consolation was to look at Kate's smooth calm brow, and thank Heaven I had never attempted to raise any feeling in her breast, that could have resulted in the aching sadness which oppressed my own; she might have loved me, for hers was too loving a nature to be insensible of affection, and a true and earnest heart is always worth any woman's acceptance; and as I met her ready, unconcealed, and sympathising glance, that often and openly sought mine, I breathed a silent ejaculation, "God preserve her from sorrow and suffering!"

We had a good deal of music, much of it sacred, and appropriate to the day; but before we separated Kate sang the "Land of the Stranger;" it is little more than recitative, but the expression with which she sang it, and her full clear honied notes!—oh how impossible to write down, in so many measured words, the strong tide of mingled emotions and passionate wishes which swept across my soul as I listened to that voice!

But I will not dwell any longer on these last sweet painful days. Now, even now, writing in all the sobered calm of older years, I find my pen hurrying on in the vain effort to depict what language cannot convey.

Winter invited us to spend my last evening with him; I would have preferred far to have spent it uninterruptedly at the Priory, but it was not so! At the little supper, which as usual closed the entertainment, our good host proposed my health as follows:—

"I know you'll agree that the toast I'm about to give is one we can all drink with unalloyed satisfaction. I give you the health of one who has passed through the fire of fashion and frivolity, and yet kept a corner of his heart for truth and reality, and preserved enough of good taste to turn from a clique, of which I may fairly say, O t' ha ingannato, o ingannar ti vuole, to the more tangible world of action; one to whom we owe the existence of a valued friend (Carramba! Gilpin, it would have been all over with you but for him); in a word I give you, 'Fred Egerton.'"

The toast was most enthusiastically received, even Miss Vernon clapped her hands approvingly; I made an appropriate acknowledgment, and soon after, apropos to my new Regiment, Kate turned to me and said, "By the bye I always forgot to tell you, Nurse has a son in the 26th Lancers; pray do not forget to give Denis O'Toole opportunities of distinguishing himself. I have written a letter for her to him, which I will give you to-morrow."

And the parting moment came fast, too fast.

"Well, good bye, my dear Egerton," said the Colonel, grasping my hand in both of his, which shook a little, "in all human probability I shall never see you more; take an old man's blessing with you."

"I can never forget the happy days I have spent with you, my dear sir; I will write from Bombay—if I have time, from Alexandria. Do not let me quite escape your memory!"

I took Kate's hand, I ventured to hold it in both of mine—I could utter no word, but gazed long and silently into her sweet, calm eyes: she looked pale, but seemed perfectly composed.

"God bless you, Captain Egerton, and make you happy," she said, in a somewhat unsteady voice.

I turned and left the room without a word!

"Christ shield ye from harm, captin jewil," sobbed Mrs. O'Toole, "don't be down-hearted entirely, sure there's many a prayer goes wid ye, an' the coldest hour is the hour before daydawn. Holy Mary keep ye, an' don't forget the letther for me poor boy."

"Nurse, dear Nurse, good-bye, I'll take care of your son."

And my last glimpse of the Priory gate showed me Mrs. O'Toole with her apron to her eyes, and Cormac looking uneasily after me.

Another day, and I stood at the stern of the steamer which was rapidly cleaving the smooth waters, straining my eyes after the quickly vanishing land, my arms folded tightly on my chest, as if to press down the bitterness that swelled my heart into the stern stillness of manful endurance: all the events of the last four months, even to their minutiÆ, stood clear before me; and as the distant outline of the land I was leaving—probably for ever—faded from my sight, and I felt the keen pang that in leaving it I left my all, which has rent many a heart, Kate Vernon's words flashed back upon my memory—"I am quite sure that a stedfast resignation to what you have brought upon yourself; an unmurmuring struggle to retrieve, will work its own cure;" and I slowly turned to go below, feeling how great was the change wrought in me since life presented no deeper ill than an unlucky change of quarters.

END OF VOL. I.

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