THE NEW WORLD CONTINUED.

The morning of Miss Vernon's visit to her ci-devant music-master rose bright and clear; and smiling at her own care, it was with rather more than usual attention to her appearance, she arranged her simple toilette; for, thought she, "I am to meet his daughter—and women judge so much more critically of dress than men."

The Colonel's announcement of his intention to accompany her, called forth all her tact to avoid the escort. She remembered keenly, the effect produced on him, by Mr. Langley's plain, unvarnished communications; and, as he had now apparently forgotten them, and returned to his usual happy, easy frame of mind, she dreaded the renewal of those unpleasant sensations, which had so disturbed him, by the discussion of the important questions of pounds, shillings, and pence, which she was nerving herself to approach boldly; besides, she did not feel quite certain, how Herman would take the intelligence she had to communicate. Then she dreaded that the kind old man might fancy himself de trop.

"I am afraid, dear grandpapa, we must start so early, you will not have time to read the paper comfortably."

"It cannot take more than half-an-hour to drive from this to Baker Street?"

"I intended walking. Cabs are so expensive."

"Why, Kate, my love, you are grown quite miserly."

Finally, she managed to insinuate a strong necessity that he should return Mr. Langley's call, and fix a day for her to visit his studio, and carried her point, that she and Mrs. O'Toole should walk to Baker Street, by the Park, while the Colonel was pacified, by the paper, and the projected visit to Langley.

"Good bye, my own, dear grandpapa—am I looking nice?"

"Yes, darling, like a rose-bud, as you are."

And he gazed proudly at her, over his glasses, as she stood before him in her simple, elegant, muslin dress, straw bonnet, with plain white ribbon, and large, soft barÈge shawl.

"There isn't the like iv her in Buckingham Palace!" said Mrs. O'Toole, with a confidential nod, as she followed her out of the room.

"Keep to the Parks, till you come to the Marble Arch, then down Oxford Street—any one will show you the way to Portman Square, and—"

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Crooks, once I am in Portman Square, I shall know my way."

Kate was not quite so agreeable a companion as usual during this walk, as she felt considerable nervousness about the approaching interview.

Nurse, too, greatly disliking the errand on which they were bound, spoke little, except an occasional ejaculation of pious discontent, or a growl at the various conductors, who kindly invited them to ride in their omnibusses.

Their walk was, therefore, silent and fatiguing; but Baker Street was gained at last.

"Not at home, 'm," said a smart girl, with a cap at the back of her head, in reply to Miss Vernon's enquiries.

"And Miss Herman?"

"Oh, Miss Herman is at home, 'm—please walk this way."

"Nurse, will you wait for me."

And Kate followed the servant up a handsomely carpeted stair-case.

Miss Herman was working something in a frame; she was more English-looking than her father, with a profusion of fair hair, and in a very handsome morning costume.

"I have expected to see Miss Vernon," she said, rising to receive her visitor, with much graciousness, and rather too much ease. "My father told me, he expected a visit from one of his former pupils."

"I was so fortunate as to meet him accidentally, the day before yesterday, and was delighted to renew my acquaintance with him."

"I have often heard my father speak of you, and of your great taste for music; you were quite one of his pet pupils. I expect him in immediately."

And the two young ladies were soon excellent friends, the more so, as Kate's new acquaintance was quite able to make up for any silence or pre-occupation, on her part, caused by the nervous anxiety with which we watch for an important interview.

Miss Herman was evidently rather curious as to the object of Kate's visit to her father; and Kate saw no reason why she should not gratify her curiosity; for, pre-occupied as she was, any other topic was irksome; and though not exactly of the stamp she had been accustomed to, it was so long since she had enjoyed a conversation with a lady, at all near her own age, that she found it a pleasant variety. Yet it was with a sensation of relief, that poor Kate hailed her exclamation—

"There is my father's knock."

In another moment, he bustled into the room.

"Rather late, dear lady; but much pleased to see you."

"Luncheon directly, Gertrude."

Then seating himself by Kate, as his daughter left the room—

"Now let me hear in what I can serve you, my dear Miss Vernon, for I got your note all safe."

Kate hesitated a moment, and then, her color rising, yet with a certain playfulness, and without any preface, said—

"You thought I wanted to take lessons from you, my dear sir—no; I want pupils myself."

Herman uttered a slight groan.

"I was apprehensive of something of the kind, when I read your note; yet I turned from the idea, as quite preposterous; and your noble relative!"

"She knows nothing of my intention. But my dear Mr. Herman," continued Kate, with a firmness and decision, that surprised even herself, "let us not waste time in deploring what is inevitable; believe me, there is a strong necessity for the step I am about to take, which does not, considered in the abstract, offer any great attractions; the question is, can you, and will you, kindly put me in the way of carrying out my views; to say that I have been your pupil, would, I am sure be greatly in my favour; but I want more than that; to introduce me, in my new career."

"Dear lady: I happen, it is true, to be rather the fashion as a musical teacher, just at present; and I should be most happy to serve you; but, though I gave you lessons for three or four months, I cannot say I trained you; and I have some pupils, brought up to music as their profession, whom I must consider first; besides though you had great talent, as an amateur, it is a different thing for a teacher, ah—have you kept up your music?"

"Yes, most diligently," replied Kate, who felt her cheeks hot, and her hands cold, during this speech of Herman's.

"Well then," rising, and opening a grand piano, "let me hear you play, and I will tell you exactly what I think; now you must hear the truth."

"It is all ask."

Miss Vernon, threw aside her bonnet and shawl, and seated herself at the piano; but her memory seemed suddenly clouded, by the very necessity for clearness, nay, her physical vision, by the intense anxiety to acquit herself well, and while the room swam before her, the only distinct image she could perceive, was Hermann, standing opposite, with a look of severe criticism on his countenance; but this moment of suffering did not last—Kate was making rapid strides in the acquirement of that self-command, without which, the empire of the world is but a wider range for the sceptred slave. "I must be calm—I will not be false to myself," she thought, and pressing her hands to her eyes for an instant, she conjured up the organist's pale, benevolent face, as it used to look, when he listened to her playing, and thus placed her spirit once more within the calm influence of her old cloistered home; then with a true and steady finger, began a fantasia, composed by Hermann himself. He started at the first notes—and listened with wrapt attention, quite as much the effect of her performance, as his own will. His daughter entered—he held up a warning finger, to enjoin silence—she came to listen; but whether there was one listener or a thousand, was now a matter of indifference to Kate, who absorbed in the music, and revelling in the tones of a magnificent instrument, after nearly a week's fast, poured forth the really beautiful composition, with a fervour of feeling, and a perfection of execution, that quite astonished her hearers; and when at length, after some beautiful and difficult runs, the piece ended with sustained chords, the German burst into exclamations of delight, in his native tongue—echoed by his daughter; while Kate, agitated by her success, stood quite still—silent from her utter inability to articulate.

"But it is wonderful how well you have remembered my instructions, I shall certainly mention you everywhere, as my pupil—my advanced pupil. And now we will have our luncheon—let me offer you my arm. Do you sing?"

"Yes."

"Ah, then, we will first have a song."

"No, no, Mr. Herman, I was foolishly nervous about playing, and now I feel hardly able to speak much less to sing."

"Well then, you must come and have a glass of wine to restore you."

During the progress of the luncheon, Kate learned many particulars, as to the usual rates of remuneration, &c.; and was surprised to find it so low.

"As a beginner you can hardly hope to get much," said Hermann, who was devouring veal pie and pickled cabbage, with great appetite; "but I hope to be of use to you here too; I will try to get you the best terms I can, and you will agree to whatever I arrange?"

"Of course; you are most kind, my dear sir; but how soon do you think you will be able to get me some pupils?"

"We shall see—we shall see—you must not be in a hurry; and Gertrude, give me that portfolio. Here," said he, "here is a simple air, harmonise it in four parts, at your leisure, and enclose it to me, that will show me what you know of theory; if you would consent to play and sing at private concerts, you might make a very good thing of it; and with your figure and face, I—"

"Hush, hush," cried Kate, with an involuntary action, and holding up her hand, as if to repel by physical force, the idea suggested by Herman, "it is useless to mention such a plan."

"Well well, as you like—but it is the pleasantest and most lucrative line by far; and now, dear lady, I must run away—I am beyond my time, and the old Duchess of L—— is as sharp as a needle about a minute more or less of the lesson. God bless you—write your address in my book, I might lose your note—you are a pupil I may well be proud of. Good bye," and he bustled off.

After a few more civil words with Miss Herman; and writing her name and address in the book, Herman kept for the purpose, Kate took her leave.

"I hope to have the pleasure of calling on you," said Miss Herman.

"I shall be most happy to see you, and to introduce you to grandpapa."

"If I do not call soon, pray excuse me, as I have many engagements. Are there any omnibusses pass near your house?"

"Oh, yes, several. I think I had better take one going back—they are not very disagreeable—are they?"

"Why, have you never been in an omnibus?" said Miss Herman, with some surprise.

"Never as yet."

And (nurse having appeared from the lower regions,) Kate shook hands once more with her lively, good-humoured, new acquaintance, and departed in high spirits at the result of her visit.

"I am very tired, nurse, and I am sure so are you."

"Is it tired, Miss Kate? not a bit iv it; sure was'nt I aitin the best iv cauld beef, an' dhrinkin' the best iv ale, down in the house-keeper's parlour, they seem mighty nice kind of people, an' there was wan of thim with the quarest cap."

"There, dear nurse, call that omnibus."

"Och, sure, Miss Kate, ye would'nt be afther goin' into wan iv the like iv thim; its nothin's but the counter-jumpers goes in thim."

"No matter, the sooner I get used to them the better," said Miss Vernon, resolute not to do things by halves but to descend freely, and, therefore, gracefully. "So do not let another pass, nurse, for indeed I am very tired."

"Oh, blessed Bridget! Oh, marciful Moses, look at this! did iver I think to—Stop, will ye, have ye no eyes in yer head, ye thief? ye wor niver tired bawlin' to us to go wid yez whin we did'nt want ye."

"Bayswater, mum—yes, mum," and Kate and Mrs. O'Toole were crammed into a vehicle, apparently full to overflowing; at least so Kate thought, though the conductor assured them he had not got his number. The occupants, as usual, would not at first open their ranks, and it was not until after some moments of uneasy balancing and staggering, that our two novices in omnibus travelling, were accommodated with seats, as far as possible from the door of the carriage. Nurse, who was of tolerable dimensions, reducing two angular old maiden ladies to scarcely visible lines; while poor Kate, with a feeling of deep repugnance, was squeezed between a fat, elderly man and the upper end of the conveyance; the road appeared interminable, and, owing to their unacquaintance with it, and their inexperience of omnibus travel, they were carried far beyond their destination.

Never had the sight of her grandfather's face been so welcome to Kate, as when she saw him looking from the window on their return; after the various small, but not the less trying, trials of the day; and joyous was the tone, in which she exclaimed—"victoria, dearest grandpapa," as she threw off her bonnet and shawl.

"Come and tell me all about it, dearest," said he, holding out his hand to her.

She seated herself beside him, and detailed her interview with Herman, brightening the brighter parts, and subduing the darker, with exquisite pious tact; and then, turning from the subject of her own plans, which always fretted the old gentleman, enquired what his movements had been, and if there was a letter from the Winters?

"No, none," said the Colonel.

"Well, I will go and get ready for dinner, and afterwards we will have a short stroll in the gardens. Perhaps this evening's post may bring us a letter from our friends. Nurse is a capital chaperone, and I am glad you did not go, dear grandpapa, it would have been quite too much for you."

After this nothing could surpass the unbroken but rather gloomy quiet, in which Kate's days slipped by; her piano having arrived, was a great source of enjoyment to her, and lent wings to many a heavy hour.

Winter, though kind, was like most men, a tardy correspondent, and Kate was ashamed of writing as often as her heart dictated. Lady Desmond, too, engrossed by some new pleasure or occupation, wrote, though affectionately, but seldom; and at times the sad feeling, that to the friends who are afar, we are as nothing, scarcely missed, and merely remembered, through the importunate efforts of our own pen, would steal over Kate's mind in spite of every effort of reason and common sense; for hers was a nature too noble, too unexacting, to doubt the kindness or the truth of those who professed either. Yet it is hard, very hard, not to become restless and complaining, when, day after day, the letter carrier hurries past, or worse still, his startling, though hoped for, knock, thrills every pulse, and there is nothing for you. Oh, you who are still left in peace and security, amongst all that has been endeared to you in childhood and in youth; amongst kindred and familiar faces; and scenes of beauty associated with happiness, and disregarded in the full certainty of possession; think well before you charge the absent with querulous avidity for letters; you cannot know, you cannot dream the intense longing with which we turn from the looks and tones, the places and the people around us, and conjure up old scenes and voices, long unheard; and then ask again, and again, with a mournful tenderness, unspeakable in its depth, "Shall I never see them more?" while a gloomy echo from our own unspoken presage answers, "they are gone—they are all passed by;" ay, passed indeed, for what is gone is eternally passed by. "Speak to them that they go forward," is the message of God to mankind, as to the Israelites of old; forward we must go, on—on, in sin or in righteousness; there is no pause, and what is left is left for ever!

Kate felt an extraordinary longing to have the old hound, Cormac, with her once more, and wrote on the subject to Mr. Winter. As usual, when any positive question was to be answered, his reply was prompt.

"Cannot you leave the dog where he is?" wrote the testy little artist, "I tell you he will be a troublesome customer; even here he is quite savage, and we have to throw him his meat from a civil distance."

"Poor Cormac!" sighed Kate, who was reading the letter aloud to her grandfather, "how unhappy he must be, when he is so cross; he will become irretrievably savage if we do not remove him; may I write about him, dear grandpapa, at once?"

"Oh, yes, my dear," said the Colonel.

"Besides," resuming the letter, "your lodgings are too dear already, and Cormac will be an addition to them. I dare say you find your money slipping away fast enough; I hope you remember you have a balance of thirty pounds in my hands, after the sale of the furniture, so do not think about Cormac at present. Poor Gilpin is very ill, and cannot last long. What is Herman about? I think he is a humbug; and what's become of Langley's sister, that was to have called on you. I remember her a good humoured woman, that murdered the King's English, her husband is very well off, she ought to have some girls to be taught."

The letter ended with a kind message from Mrs. Winter, who seldom wrote, and left an uneasy unpleasant impression on Kate's mind.

"Well, I will write about Cormac, I so long to have him to walk with me," she said, after a moment's thought. Beginning her letter with excuses for so imprudent a proceeding, to her terrible mentor, she continued—

"The complete disappearance of all the agents through whom I hoped to achieve, such great things from the little stage of my life, is indeed marvellous, and so dispiriting that I felt inclined to most unbecoming impatience when I read your letter, in which you, as usual, set forth, so forcibly, important points; but second thoughts are best maestro mio. Let us give them the benefit of our doubts; both Miss Herman and Mrs. Storey may be out of town, or unwell, or any thing you like, and while it is better for my heart and spirits to fancy my ci-devant music-master moving heaven and earth, though unsuccessful in my behalf, than to imagine him playing me false, by culpable negligence, let me think so; I must wait; so let the imagination I so often indulged, in happier days, show her gratitude by lightening the interval of wretched doubt. Is this right? If you think so, say it, for I am not, heaven knows, so strong that I can dispense with the wholesome encouragement of friendly approbation; and though there is great support in the whisperings of an approving conscience, yet it is wonderfully comforting to have its accents echoed by a voice one loves. By the arrangements I have made here, Cormac's advent will add nothing to our expenses, and I am sure his absence will be a relief to you."

Miss Vernon went to Euston Square, accompanied by Mrs. O'Toole, to meet him, and the joy of the old hound, at sight of her, was quite touching.

"We are afraid to go near him, ma'am," said the porter, who led them to where he was chained, "he's the fiercest dog we ever had charge on."

But Kate fearlessly went up to him, and unfastened his chain, while he almost overpowered her by his uncouth caresses, to the dread of the beholders. Then sitting close by her, his head stretched up that he might look in her face, and only noticing Mrs. O'Toole, by an occasional lick, he remained as docile as a lamb.

Kate and nurse walked gaily home with him, feeling they had gained the addition of a friend to their society; indeed Cormac conducted himself with so much discretion, that the smiling, because regularly paid, landlady observed, he was, "a perfect hangel in disposition."

As if pleasures and pains were equally gregarious, Mr. Langley called just as they were going to tea. He was livelier than usual, and explained his own and his sister's apparent inattention, by informing them that she had been obliged to take her little boy to the Isle of Wight, for change of air; that he had accompanied them for the same purpose, and had there met Miss Herman, who was on a visit to her married sister. Thus were all Kate's doubts satisfactorily cleared up, and the very lightness of heart which these few words of explanation produced, proved to her how heavily their silence and apparent neglect had preyed upon her spirits. It was no wonder therefore that Langley felt surprised he had not before been struck by the brilliancy as well as the sweetness of her face; she played, and sang for him too, for the first time, and although he said little, was evidently charmed by a degree of excellence he was in no wise prepared for.

He left them at an early hour (after an offer of books from his collection), considerably cheered by his visit. He had been much more agreeable than usual, indeed there was something in the noble manner of Colonel Vernon, in the grace and piquancy of his grandchild, in her perfect freedom from all idea of self; and spirited intelligent assumption of her right to think for herself—that attracted the taciturn, though well informed, Langley, in no common degree. He had a bad opinion of women in general—like many men, he divided them into two classes, fools and knaves; and could not imagine the combination of heart and intellect—yet Kate's original observations, surprised him by their freshness, while it was impossible to look upon her sweet, but noble countenance—and doubt that if ever the spirit of truth had stamped its impress on a human soul, that soul was hers.