Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 3 (of 3)

"Who are you writing to, Kate?" asked Egarton, jealously watching her endeavouring to hide a tear that fell upon the paper as he entered the room.

"To nurse, but you must not see it."

"Cativa—I have no such wild ambition, but keep it till to-morrow, I want to add a postscript."

"Yes but no later, she will be so proud to hear from you."

Egerton's talk over pounds shillings and pence with Winter gave that worthy great satisfaction. "I am not rich," said the young colonel, "but I have a moderate competence with the prize money that has fallen to my share, my military appointments and the certainty as to the future, although it springs, unfortunately, from my poor brother's state of health; besides, Kate is so differently situated now compared to what she was when I tore myself away from England. I can never forget your fatherly kindness to my bride elect."

"I trust you will not think of taking her to India."

"I should prefer staying at home now; I dread the climate for her; yes, in all probability I shall remain at home; it would be a hard trial to part from you and her cousin; by the way I cannot quite make out that Lady Desmond," and the two friends proceeded to discuss and elucidate very near the truth of Kate's well preserved secret.

"Now then my Kate" said Egerton, looking up from his writing the next morning and holding out his hand. "Come here, I have a clearer conscience than you, you may read my postscript; to be sure as it is to a lady you have a right."

She took the paper from his hand, and standing by him read as follows, while he leant his arm on the table and gazed in her face.

We dare not tell how Kate expressed her entire approbation of this letter; severe ladies may be shocked, and we have a great respect for them. She was no prude, and Egerton had strong nerves, so no one need trouble themselves further on the subject.

All arrangements and projects were however broken up, shortly before the Winters and their now blooming adopted daughter, left town for A——. A telegraphic despatch from Allerton announced the sudden return of Lord Egerton's paralytic seizure, and summoned his brother to what soon proved to be a death-bed scene. The peer showed symptoms of satisfaction when his discarded brother took his place by his bed side, but he was speechless, and after a week's suffering breathed his last.

Meantime Kate and her kind friends reached their old home, the sense of happiness tempered the solemn tidings of Lord Egerton's death which reached them as they left London.

Kate could not repress a shudder as the shout of "Carrington, Carrington, change here for Batten Wiggem, Manchester," met her ear; she looked at Winter and silently raised her eyes to Heaven.

Mrs. O'Toole had been some days installed at Abbey Gardens previous to their return, and as Kate caught the first glimpse of her, the white apron, and the snowy cap, the black gown and the eager, straining look, the attitude all the same, exactly the same, as the sad day she had bid her good bye, her heart bounded within her at the contrast. How she clung to her and kissed her, and smothered her wrinkled cheeks with her fair soft hands, and would not let her out of her sight for a moment, and pleased herself by waiting on her.

"Sure, I could'nt answer yer letther, the way I'd like, core iv my heart," said Mrs. O'Toole to Kate, when they were alone; "nor the Captin's, (me Lord's I mane) will ye write wan fur me asthore; he'll think I have'nt a screed iv gratitude in me afther him settlin a fortin on me."

"I will, dear nurse, but he will be here soon, and then you can speak to him yourself; he must be at Allerton now on account of his poor brother's death, it was so sudden at last."

"Well, the Lord, rest his soul! sure it's better for him to be in happiness in heaven than down here, standin' in the captin's way," returned nurse, cheerfully.

"For shame, nurse, you must not speak so."

"Och, thin, core iv my heart, but ye look well; there's the light iv joy in your eyes, an' on yer lips again. See what a power if happiness the Blessed Saviour was storin' up for us, all the time we wor in sorra. An' many's the time I grumbled becaise things didn't go my way. Sure, if I'd the pick iv the world, I'd choose the captin (I mane me Lord) fur a husband fur ye; it's he that has the warm heart, an' the open hand!—an' what'll ye be, asthore?—a duchess or a countess!

"Only a viscountess, and even then that seems very strange."

"A vi-countess; that's something betune thim, anyways." Kate laughed. "An' whin will me Lord be here?"

"Not till after his brother's funeral, of course."

"They'll have a grand berrin," concluded Mrs. O'Toole, meditatively.

The new peer, as may be anticipated, joined them as soon as it was possible, and a joyful sight it was to see his greeting with Mrs. O'Toole, who was the same with the viscount as she had been with the captain. He stopped to shake hands with her most cordially and energetically at the foot of the stairs, even though Kate was waiting for him at the top.

"Och! many's the time me ould eyes wur wearyin' to see you when we wur in throuble; many's the time me sweet child wanted ye; but, glory be to God, you'll be beside her for ever from this out, captin, agra! Me lord, I mane."

"I'll never forgive you if you change the title, nurse. I was not perfectly content till I saw your honest face; but now, indeed, I feel I am amongst my old friends again."

"An' sure aint I a brute not to thank you fur the fortin; it's bewildhered I am entirely; yer a prence, so ye are."

"Well nurse, never mind; I can't stop now, for you see there's Miss Kate waiting for me; we'll have a long talk to-morrow," cried Egerton, springing up the stairs.

The news of Kate's approaching happiness did more to comfort Lady Desmond, and soothe her vexed spirit, than whole libraries of sound reasoning and good advice could have done; nor was it difficult to prevail on her to join them; and so the interval demanded by business and etiquette sped away, and long before winter had yielded to the coming spring, a quiet, happy wedding party assembled at the old church. Mr. Winter was there, for the first time in his life, perhaps, in white gloves; Lady Desmond; and the Wentworths, gay, polished, kind-hearted triflers, all charmed with their new sister; and Burton, gravely observant, looked on contentedly; and Mrs. Winter rather nervous at the thoughts of entertaining so goodly a company.

And Mrs. O'Toole, though the wedding was peculiarly quiet, was satisfied, perfectly, as she removed the long, graceful veil from her child's head, and replaced it with a travelling bonnet, ejaculating, "If mee blessed masther could look down from heaven, it's he that would be proud an' happy. Sure he sees us this blessed minnit!"

Our tale is ended, and Kate Vernon merged in "The Viscountess Egerton."

We may not promise that her future will be all unclouded, but, at least, she has a true, strong heart—a bold, clear spirit to aid her through the rugged paths of life; to stand beside her in the storm, and finally, to glide with her into the calm, still evening of time.

Lady Desmond is still a widow; she passes much of her time amongst her hitherto uncared-for tenantry, and her happiest hours are spent in the pleasant circle collected at Allerton.

Colonel Dashwood is married to a fair, bright girl, younger by a good many years than himself, who looks up to him as a perfect Chevalier Bayard.

Bruton remains a determined old bachelor.

The Winters are well, happy, and prosperous, as they deserve to be.

It was in the height of the high season of 1851, as we endeavoured to "move round," in obedience to the imperious mandate of the policeman on duty, at the case containing the celebrated Kooh-i-noor, in the Crystal Palace, that our attention was attracted by the consequential air of an elderly female, decidedly embonpoint, and well to do in the world, as evidenced by her substantial black silk dress and bonnet, and rich scarlet shawl.

"An', so that's the Kooh-i-noor, is it?" remarked the old lady in audible accents, whether addressed to an individual companion or to the crowd generally, we do not pretend to decide.

"Athen, it's mighty like a lump iv glass hangin' to a lusthre; faith the ould masther had a dimint he used to wear an his breast at Dungar, in the good ould times, that this wan, for all it's so big, couldn't hould a candle to; but it's not every one ud know the differ. It's kilt entirely I am with the haite; an' mee lady"—and we gradually lost the words, though we struggled after the retreating figure, till we saw her respectfully handed, by a tall footman in a handsome livery, into a coronetted chariot, from whence beamed a lovely, happy face we remembered well.

The thread is spun, the web is woven—a parting quotation, and we have done:—

Saunders's News-Letter (we omit the precise date) lately contained the following paragraph:—

"We understand the Dungar property, in the county of ——, so long the subject of litigation, has been purchased by Viscount Egerton, of Allerton, under the Incumbered Estates' Court. Lady Egerton is, we believe, the grand-daughter and heiress-at-law of the late owner, the well-known and universally respected Colonel D'Arcy Vernon."

"Ay," said a thick little artist, who had withdrawn his thumb from his palette to open a newspaper directed to him in a delicate female hand, as he read this paragraph—"So the wheel goes round, but it is not every day it brings up, sparkling over the dull surface of life, so bright and pure a gem as Kate Vernon."

THE END.

T. C. Newby, Printer, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square.