"He does--and he lives up to his standard except in this one failing for which I am truly sorry. Abominable I grant you--but there are many things which are worse."

"I can't think of anything worse," she echoed with a deep sigh, walking slowly toward him and regaining her chair, all her anger gone, only the pain in her heart left. "I don't want Harry to be like the others, and he can't live their lives if he's going to be my husband. I want him to be different,--to be big and fine and strong,--like the men who have made the world better for their having lived in it--that old De Ruyter, for instance, that his father is always bragging about--not a weak, foolish boy whom everybody can turn around their fingers. Some of my girl friends don't mind what the young men do, or how often they break their word to them so that they are sure of their love. I do, and I won't have it, and I have told Harry so over and over again. It's such a cowardly thing--not to be man enough to stand up and say 'No--I won't drink with you!' That's why I say I can't think of his doing anything worse."

St. George fixed his eyes upon her. He had thought he knew the girl's heart, but this was a revelation to him. Perhaps her sorrow, like that of her mother, was making a well-rounded woman of her.

"Oh, I can think of a dozen things worse," he rejoined with some positiveness. "Harry might lie; Harry might be a coward; Harry might stand by and hear a friend defamed; Harry might be discourteous to a woman, or allow another man to be--a thing he'd rather die than permit.

None of these things could he be or do. I'd shut my door in his face if he did any one of them, and so should you. And then he is so penitent when he has done anything wrong. 'It was my fault--I would rather hang myself than lose Kate. I haven't slept a wink, Uncle George.' And he was so handsome when he came in this morning--his big black eyes flashing, his cheeks like two roses--so straight and strong, and so graceful and wholesome and lovable. I wouldn't care, if I were you, if he did slip once in a while--not any more than I would if Spitfire stumbled. And then again"--here he moved his chair close to her own so he could get his hand on hers the easier--"if Spitfire does stumble, there is the bridle to pull her up, but for this she might break her neck. That's where you come in, Kate. Harry's in your hands--has been since the hour he loved you. Don't let him go headlong to the devil--and he will if you turn him loose without a bridle."

"I can't do him any good--he won't mind anything I say. And what dependence can I place on him after this?" her voice sank to a tone of helpless tenderness. "It isn't his being drunk altogether; he will outgrow that, perhaps, as you say you did, and be man enough to say no next time; but it's because he broke his promise to me. That he will never outgrow! Oh, it's wicked!--wicked for him to treat me so. I have never done anything he didn't want me to do! and he has no right to--Oh, Uncle George, it's--"

St. George leaned nearer and covered her limp fingers with his own tender grasp.

"Try him once more, Kate. Let me send him to you. It will be all over in a minute and you will be so happy--both of you! Nothing like making up--it really pays for the pain of a quarrel."

The outside door shut gently and there was a slight movement in the hall behind them, but neither of them noticed it. Kate sat with her head up, her mind at work, her eyes watching the firelight. It was her future she was looking into. She had positive, fixed ideas of what her station in life as a married woman should be;--not what her own or Harry's birth and position could bring her. With that will-o'-the-wisp she had no sympathy. Her grandfather in his early days had been a plain, seafaring man even if his ancestry did go back to the time of James I, and her mother had been a lady, and that too without the admixture of a single drop of the blood of any Kennedy Square aristocrat. That Harry was well born and well bred was as it should be, but there was something more;--the man himself. That was why she hesitated. Yes--it WOULD "all be over in a minute," just as Uncle George said, but when would the next break come? And then again there was her mother's life with all the misery that a broken promise had caused her. Uncle George was not the only young gallant who had been put to bed in her grandfather's house.

Her mother had loved too--just as much as she loved Harry--loved with her whole soul--until grandpa Barkeley put his foot down.

St. George waited in silence as he read her mind. Breaches between most of the boys and girls were easily patched up--a hearty cry, an outstretched hand--"I am so sorry," and they were in each other's arms.

Not so with Kate. Her reason, as well as her heart, had to be satisfied.

This was one of the things that made her different from all the other girls about her, and this too was what had given her first place in the affections and respect of all who knew her. Her heart he saw was uppermost to-night, but reason still lurked in the background.

"What do you think made him do it again?" she murmured at last in a voice barely audible, her fingers tightening in his palm. "He knows how I suffer and he knows too WHY I suffer. Oh, Uncle George!--won't you please talk to him! I love him so, and I can't marry him if he's like this. I can't!--_I_ CAN'T!"

A restrained smile played over St. George's face. The tide was setting his way.

"It won't do a bit of good," he said calmly, smothering his joy. "I've talked to him until I'm tired, and the longer I talk the more wild he is to see you. Now it's your turn and there's no time to lose. I'll have him here in five minutes," and he glanced at the clock. She raised her hand in alarm:

"I don't want him yet. You must see him first--you must--"

"No, I won't see him first, and I'm not going to wait a minute. Talk to him yourself; put your arms around him and tell him everything you have told me--now--to-night. I'm going for him," and he sprang to his feet.

"No!--you must not! You SHALL not!" she cried, clutching nervously at his arm, but he was out of the room before she could stop him.

In the silent hall, hat in hand, his whole body tense with expectancy, stood Harry. He had killed time by walking up and down the long strip of carpet between the front door and the staircase, measuring his nervous steps to the length of the pattern, his mind distracted by his fears for the outcome--his heart thumping away at his throat, a dull fright gripping him when he thought of losing her altogether.

St. George's quick step, followed by his firm clutch of the inside k.n.o.b, awoke him to consciousness. He sprang forward to catch his first word.

"Can I go in?" he stammered.

St. George grabbed him by the shoulder, wheeled him around, and faced him.

"Yes, you reprobate, and when you get in go down on your knees and beg her pardon, and if I ever catch you causing her another heartache I'll break your d.a.m.ned neck!--do you hear?"

With the shutting of the swinging gate the wily old diplomat regained his normal good-humored poise, his face beaming, his whole body tingling at his success. He knew what was going on behind the closed curtains, and just how contrite and humble the boy would be, and how Kate would scold and draw herself up--proud d.u.c.h.ess that she was--and how Harry would swear by the nine G.o.ds, and an extra one if need be--and then there would come a long, long silence, broken by meaningless, half-spoken words--and then another silence--so deep and absorbing that a full choir of angels might have started an anthem above their heads and neither of them would have heard a word or note.

And so he kept on his way, picking his steps between the moist places in the path to avoid soiling his freshly varnished boots; tightening the lower b.u.t.ton of his snug-fitting plum-colored coat as a bracing to his waist-line; throwing open the collar of his overcoat the wider to give his shoulders the more room--very happy--very well satisfied with himself, with the world, and with everybody who lived in it.

CHAPTER III

Moorlands was ablaze!

From the great entrance gate flanked by moss-stained brick posts capped with stone b.a.l.l.s, along the avenue of oaks to the wide portico leading to the great hall and s.p.a.cious rooms, there flared one continuous burst of light. On either side of the oak-bordered driveway, between the tree-trunks, crackled torches of pine knots, the glow of their curling flames bringing into high relief the black faces of innumerable field-hands from the Rutter and neighboring plantations, lined up on either side of the gravel road--teeth and eyeb.a.l.l.s flashing white against the blackness of the night. Under the porches hung festoons of lanterns of every conceivable form and color, while inside the wide baronial hall, and in the great drawing-room with the apartments beyond, the light of countless candles, cl.u.s.tered together in silver candelabras, shed a soft glow over the groups of waiting guests.

To-night Colonel Talbot Rutter of Moorlands, direct descendant of the house of De Ruyter, with an ancestry dating back to the Spanish Invasion, was to bid official welcome to a daughter of the house of Seymour, equally distinguished by flood and field in the service of its king. These two--G.o.d be thanked--loved each other, and now that the young heir to Moorlands was to bring home his affianced bride, soon to become his wedded wife, no honor could be too great, no expense too lavish, no welcome too joyful.

Moreover, that this young princess of the blood might be accorded all the honors due her birth, lineage, and rank, the colonel's own coach-and-four, with two postilions and old Matthew on the box--twenty years in the service--his whip tied with forget-me-nots, the horses'

ears streaming with white ribbons--each flank as smooth as satin and each panel bright as a mirror--had been trundled off to Kennedy Square, there to receive the fairest of all her daughters, together with such other members of her royal suite--including His Supreme Excellency the Honorable Prim--not forgetting, of course, Kate's old black mammy, Henny, who was as much a part of the fair lady's belongings when she went afield as her ostrich-plume fan, her white gloves, or the wee slippers that covered her enchanting feet.

Every detail of harness, wheel, and brake--even the horn itself--had pa.s.sed under the colonel's personal supervision; Matthew on the box straight as a hitching-post and bursting with pride, reins gathered, whip balanced, the leaders steady and the wheel horses in line. Then the word had been given, and away they had swept round the circle and so on down the long driveway to the outer gate and Kennedy Square. Ten miles an hour were the colonel's orders and ten miles an hour must Matthew make, including the loading and unloading of his fair pa.s.senger and her companions, or there would be the devil to pay on his return.

And the inside of the house offered no less a welcome. Drawn up in the wide hall, under the direct command of old Alec, the head butler, were the house servants;--mulatto maids in caps, snuff-colored second butlers in livery, jet-black mammies in new bandannas and white ap.r.o.ns--all in a flutter of excitement, and each one determined to get the first glimpse of Ma.r.s.e Harry's young lady, no matter at what risk.

Alec himself was a joy to look upon--eyeb.a.l.l.s and teeth gleaming, his face one wide, encircling smile. Ma.r.s.e Harry was the apple of his eye, and had been ever since the day of his birth. He had carried him on his back when a boy; had taught him to fish and hunt and to ride to hounds; had nursed him when he fell ill at the University in his college days, and would gladly have laid down his life for him had any such necessity arisen. To-night, in honor of the occasion, he was rigged out in a new bottle-green coat with shiny bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, white waistcoat, white gloves three sizes too big for him, and a huge white cravat flaring out almost to the tips of his ears. Nothing was too good for Alec--so his mistress thought--and for the best of reasons. Not only was he the ideal servant of the old school, but he was the pivot on which the whole establishment moved. If a particular brand or vintage was needed, or a key was missing, or did a hair trunk, or a pair of spurs, or last week's Miscellany, go astray--or even were his mistress's spectacles mislaid--Alec could put his hand upon each and every item in so short a s.p.a.ce of time that the loser was convinced the old man had hidden them on purpose, to enjoy their refinding. Moorlands without old Alec would hive been a wheel without a hub.

As a distinct feature of all these preparations--and this was the best part of the programme--Harry was to meet Kate at the outer gate supported by half a dozen of his young friends and hers--Dr. Teackle, Mark Gilbert, Langdon Willits, and one or two others--while Mrs. Rutter, Mrs. Cheston, Mrs. Richard Horn, and a bevy of younger women and girls were to welcome her with open arms the moment her dainty feet cleared the coach's step. This was the way princesses of the blood had been welcomed from time immemorial to palaces and castles high, and this was the way their beloved Kate was to make entry into the home of her lord.

Soon the flash of the coach lamps was seen outside the far gate. Then there came the wind of a horn--a rollicking, rolling, gladsome sound, and in the wink of an eyelid every one was out on the portico straining their eyes, listening eagerly. A joyous shout now went up from the negroes lining the fences; from the groups about the steps and along the driveway.

"Here she comes!"

The leaders with a swing pranced into view as they cleared the gate posts. There came a moment's halt at the end of the driveway; a postilion vaulted down, threw wide the coach door and a young man sprang in. It was Harry!... Snap!! Crack!! Toot--toot!!--and they were off again, heading straight for the waiting group. Another prolonged, winding note--louder--nearer--one of triumph this time!--a galloping, circling dash toward the porch crowded with guests--the reining in of panting leaders--the sudden gathering up of the wheel horses, back on their haunches--the coach door flung wide and out stepped Kate--Harry's hand in hers, her old mammy behind, her father last of all.

"Oh, such a lovely drive! and it was so kind of you, dear colonel, to send for me! Oh, it was splendid! And Matthew galloped most all the way." She had come as a royal princess, but she was still our Kate. "And you are all out here to meet me!" Here she kissed Harry's mother--"and you too, Uncle George--and Sue--Oh, how fine you all look!"--and with a curtsy and a joyous laugh and a hand-clasp here and there, she bent her head and stepped into the wide hall under the blaze of the cl.u.s.tered candles.

It was then that they caught their breaths, for no such vision of beauty had ever before stood in the wide hall of Moorlands, her eyes shining like two stars above the rosy hue of her cheek; her skin like a sh.e.l.l, her throat and neck a lily in color and curves. And her poise; her gladsomeness; her joy at being alive and at finding everybody else alive; the way she moved and laughed and bent her pretty head; the ripples of gay laughter and the low-pitched tone of the warm greetings that fell from her lips!

No wonder Harry was bursting with pride; no wonder Langdon Willits heaved a deep sigh when he caught the glance that Kate flashed at Harry and went out on the porch to get a breath of fresh air; no wonder St.

George's heart throbbed as he watched them both and thought how near all this happiness had come to being wrecked; no wonder the servants tumbled over each other in their eagerness to get a view of her face and gown, and no wonder, too, that the proud, old colonel who ruled his house with a rod of iron, determined for the first time in his life to lay down the sceptre and give Kate and Harry full sway to do whatever popped into their two silly heads.

And our young Lochinvar was fully her match in bearing, dress, and manners,--every inch a prince and every inch a Rutter,--and with such grace of movement as he stepped beside her, that even punctilious, outspoken old Mrs. Cheston--who had forgiven him his escapade, and who was always laughing at what she called the pump-handle shakes of some of the underdone aristocrats about her, had to whisper to the nearest guest--"Watch Harry, my dear, if you would see how a thoroughbred manages his legs and arms when he wishes to do honor to a woman.

Admirable!--charming! No young man of my time ever did better." And Mrs.

Cheston knew, for she had hobn.o.bbed with kings and queens, her husband having represented his government at the Court of St. James--which fact, however, never prevented her from calling a spade a spade; nor was she ever very particular as to what the spade unearthed.

Yes--a very gallant and handsome young man was our prince as he handed Kate up the stairs on her way to the dressing-room, and looked it in his pearl-gray coat with b.u.t.tons of silver, fluffy white silk scarf, high dog-eared collar, ivory-white waistcoat, and tight-fitting trousers of nankeen yellow, held close to the pumps with invisible straps. And a very gallant and handsome young fellow he felt himself to be on this night of his triumph, and so thought Kate--in fact she had fallen in love with him over again--and so too did every one of the young girls who crowded about them, as well as the dominating, erect aristocrat of a father, and the anxious gentle mother, who worshipped the ground on which he walked.

Kate had noted every expression that crossed his face, absorbing him in one comprehensive glance as he stood in the full blaze of the candles, her gaze lingering on his mouth and laughing eyes and the soft sheen of his brown hair, its curved-in ends brushing the high velvet collar of his coat--and so on down his shapely body to his shapely feet. Never had she seen him so adorable--and he was all her own, and for life!

As for our dear St. George Temple, who had never taken his eyes off them, he thought they were the goodliest pair the stars ever shone upon, and this his happiest night. There would be no more stumbling after this. Kate had the bridle well in hand now; all she needed was a clear road, and that was ahead of both horse and rider.

"Makes your blood jump in your veins, just to look at them, doesn't it, Talbot?" cried St. George to Harry's father when Kate disappeared--laying his hand as he spoke on the shoulder of the man with whom he had grown up from a boy. "Is there anything so good as the love of a good woman?--the wise old prophet places her beyond the price of rubies."

"Only one thing, St. George--the love of a good man--one like yourself, you dear old fellow. And why the devil you haven't found that out years ago is more than I can understand. Here you are my age, and you might have had a Kate and Harry of your own by this time, and yet you live a stupid old--"