Steven Lawrence, Peoman. A STORY.

Otago Witness, Issue 832, 8 November 1867, Page 16

Steven Lawrence, Peoman. A STORY.

By the Author of "Archie Lovem.," &c

CHAPTER XX. — COBTEB ON THE TERRACE. The dinner-party that evening was not remarkable .for its brilliancy. -Lord Petres in the course of the afternoon had had his hand pressed by Mrs Dering with a sisterly warmth that, he could not hide from himself, was fraught with cruellest significance for the future ; he had also been conducted through long grass to see the Squire's heifers, and had got his feetdamp ; and throughout the last twentyfour hours had partaken only of nourishment prepared by a "good plain" English cook. Could it* be wondered at if Lord Petres' eyes looked more glassy, his white face more resigned and melancholy than usual, during the entire festivity — a festivity which, like the death-feasts of the Indians, was being celebrated, he knew, in mocking honor of himself, the victim destined hereafter for immolation. Katharine, who looked mortally wearied with everybody, sat between her lover and the rector, saying yes and no at hazard, and as the evening wore on giving many furtive glances across the lawn towards the terrace ; the pcint where Steven Lawrence was accustomed at this hour of sunset to appear. Mrs Dering talked, and talked well, of course ; she was a woman whose special vocation it was to supply admirable small talk under all accidents or changes of human life ; but with the best will in the world, one person unsupported can scarcely furn'sli adequate conversation for a dinner-party of seven. The rector, piqued at the onset of dinner by Katharine's treatment of one of his best stories, confined himself silently to eating and drinking for the remainder of the meal ; and Lord ELiverstcck (a tall, indefinitelycolored creature, aquiline-nosed, goodhumored eyed, ond with an inch and a half of forehead) was so horribly frightened at finding himself next to Dot — the poor boy was always frightened to death by every young woman higher in rank than a barmaid — that he never opened Lis lips except scared in monosyllables from the moment he began his soup until the ladies had left the table. ''Such are little sociable dinners," said Katharine, when at length, with her sister and Dot, she had made her escape to the garden. " How intensely stupid it was, Bella ! how intensely stupid men are ! How wise mamma was to have a headache, and keep in her own room !" " I don't think it was at all stupid, Kate," said Mrs Dering. "It j ust seemed to me one of those pleasant friendly parties where people talk or are silent as they like. How wonderfully good-looking the rector is, and hoio Lord Haverstock has improved." Kate gave a dry laugh. " Improved ! What can Lord Haverstock have been like in his former state, if in his present ene he is improved ? Now, suppose he wasn't Lord Haverstock at all, but a son of Mills the horse-dealer, what would we say of him, I wonder, with his horsey look and slang expressions, when he does open his lips — and his awkwardness and stupidity V Mrs Dering was too wise, and too well pleased with the success of her diplomacy, to attempt to contradict any of Katharine's radical opinions 10-night. ' ' Poor Lor-1 H, - verstock ! he is certainly not over-brilliant or over-handsome ; but how charming your new rector is ! I had not seen him before. !No wonder he has made you a convert to Anglicanism, Katharine !"

" If he is always as eloquent as he was to-day, I should think his life would be spent in making converts," said Katharine. v Did he speak a dozen words from the beginning of dinner till its close ?" "Well, my opinion is that everybody was so silent because they had a kind of "wedding-breakfast cloud hanging over them!" cried Dot, incisively. '-'The coming event begins to cast its shadow before. As I lookod at you, Kate, sitting in your white dress at Lord Petres' side, I could quite hive believed that we were assisting already at the marriage feast. " "That I cm well believe, Dot," said Katharine, qn ietl v. ' ' Lord Petres looked miserable enough, even for a bridegroom, lam sure. I must tell him seriously by and by, that 1 have no more intention of being married now than I ever had. Something besides the country and the bad cooking is telling on that poor little fellow's spirits, 1 am sure." Mrs Dering laughed, and affected to treat thi3 remark of her sister's as a pleasantry ; but a few 1 'minutes later she put her hand within Katharine's arm, and managed to- got her away to the terracewalk, out of Dot's hearing. " I have not had an opportunity to speak +o you before, Kate," she whispered. "How glad, how ▼cry glad I am, dearest, to think that everything is settled !" "Settled ! as regards what, Bella?" "Ah, 'don't jest, Katharine, when you we aldne 1 with me — settled as regards

your approaching marriage ! Lord Petres spoke to papa this morning, and wants it to be very soon, and was most liberal — but we won't even talk of that. Come, Kate," said Mrs Dering, affectionately, " don't pretend to me that you and Lord Petrea are not thoroughly d'accord in everything. ">

" I should say," said Katharine, speaking slowly and with deliberation, " that Lord Petres and I are ' d'accord,' as you call it, in nothing. Oh, I know what you would remind me of," she cried, as Mrs Dering was about to interrupt her, and with an almost painful blush rising over I her face. "You looked in through the window to-day, and you saw that Lord Petres kissed me ! I believe it was the second time he ever did so, Bella ! Some great ceremonial of the kind to"k place when we were first told that we were engaged, and I didn't mind it much then. I never even thought of love in those days. I mean, I mean — Bella," abruptly, and she turned and looked wistfully into her sister's face ; "I don't think I ever can m:\rry Lord Petres !"

Whatever Mrs Dering felt, she was, outwardly, thorough mistress of the situation. " All gir's thinks the same, Katharine," she j-mwered soothingly. "I am sure I thought a dozen, a hundred times, before I married General Dering, that I really did not care enough for him, yet you see how happy I am, Kate !"

" I am a very different woman to you, Belh,"

" You are a woman," said Mrs Dering, " exactly suited to the position in which Lord Petres can place you. Let us talk sense, not sentiment, Kate ! You are a woman fond of society, and of shining there, fond of London, fond in a restricted sense of the country ; fond of everything cultivated and refined in life ; and all this can be given through money alone. Besides, Katharine," she added, gravely, " although it is a subject in which my conscience forbids me to sympathise, I cannot but feel that your holding, in your heart, the religious opinions which Lord Petres professes openly, is an immense tie to bind you together. If I could think, if I could hope," cried Mrs Dering, " that there was a chance of your abandoning what I must ev3r hold to be Romish erroi*, I should feel differently. But Ido not think this. I believe you sincere in your religion, as you are in everything else, X.ate, and I am sufficiently free from narrow-mindedness to rejoice that you are to marry a Catholic. What chance of earthly happiness can there be," said Mrs Dering, solemnly, " unles3 married people think alike on the sacred subject that outweighs all others ?"

Every word in this long speech was well chosen. Katharine knew that she did like society, and shining in society ; London, country, and everything else that money could give. Srill, had Mrs Dering stopped here, her arguments had been insufficient. What were these things worth, Katharine would have aske'l, when they came to be weighed against the sweet liberty which she must surrender to gain them ? But the \ ision of returning to the church of her predilecticn and her birth — of being in a position to give that faith substantial support — was one that during the last eighteen months had lain very near to Katharine Fant's heart.

A child of seven when her mother remarried (and from indolence, and the distance of the Done from a Roman Catholic chapel, and the love of being a mirtvr, combined, went over to the Squire's faith), Katharine, a stout little ..papist already, had obstinately rebelled from the first against exchanging her blue rosary, and pretty prayers to the Virgin, for Mrs Trimmer and the church catechism ys broken up and made easy by Pinnock. Clithero church and its services seemed hideous and bare, indeed, after ths glit tering convent chapel it: which the child had been accustomed t > hear mass at York : the chapel with windows that cast rainbow pictures upon an inlaid floor ; and paintings of Mother and Child, and soft-eyed Saints, around the walls ; and crucifix and snow-whita lilies upon the altar ; and even the roof covered with blue clouds and gilded stars and angel faces — always speciilly smiling down on little Kate.

" I like my new papa, and I like my pony," the child said, trying to be just ; " but I don't like being a Protestant. I like chapel because they sing, and have pictures, and swing incense there. I like to watch the serving-b^ys ; I like to see the silver cross and the little pink roses on Father Austin's back, and I htte Clithero church, and the ugly old man ii a white gown ! And when lam a woman I'll go to chapel again like my own papa did."

Time, and the irresistible weight of example, made the child a Protestant of course ; that is to say, she fretted after the blue beads no more ; and she said (aloud) the formulas she was taught to say, and did not behave worse than other children of her age at the parish church. Arabella, who even at this early age was

a yonng person, swayed by her reason rather than emotions, had been brought' without much difficulty to see that living in a Protestant neighborhood, and under the roof of a Protestant stepfather, the tenets of Popery "were errors that it was good -taste for her to abjure. And whatever Arabella, at her advanced time of life, and with- her superior wisdom, did, Kate, poor little soul ! felt could not .be very wrong for her to do likewise. Still, the poetry, the fragrance of the old religion' was never really crushed out from her memory. If her hew home, instead of being th'a Dene, had been Ashcot; if the worship which was to replace the glitter and sweet incense and sweet music of the mass had been the worship of Shiloh, a very few months would probably have sufficed to turn Katharine into just as staunch ' a Wesley an as she had once been a papist. She was a warm, pas-sionate-natured little creature ; craving to love, craving to be loved in return by men and women, but also by the good saints and by heaven. And, notwithstanding their lack of outside beauty, the familiar hymns, the homely services of Shiloh had, I think, sufficient fervour, sufficient real human heartiness in them to have filled the simple' measure of a child's soul.

As it was, the religion they told her to give up was replaced — I may say it boldly — by none. The 1 Squire's whole kindly life was, in truth, religion put into practice ; and to him, instinct-jsuideil, Kate clung. But the Squire was a man darkly ignorant as to theological differences. A papist, a Unitarian, a quaker, might each, withcnit detriment to his belief, have had Mr Hilliard for an associate. Ho had taken very little part in his wife's conversion ; none at all in the hiding away of Kate's blue beads. The Church of England was the faith into which he himself had been born, and in which he meant to die : and ho went regularly to church, and repeated the responses, and listened (a little beyond the text) i o the sermon on Sunday ; and dined at two o'clock for the sake of the servants ; and never broke the sanctity of the day otherwise than by furtively t iking his long spud and digging up weeds in retired parts of the garden of an afternoon. From Monday morning fcill Saturday night he thought of nothing higher than his mangels and heifers, and improving his land, and the condition of the poor who lived on it, with such other narrow interests and employments as immediately belonged to his narrow groove of life. And, young as she was, little ' Kate soon felt that the Squire, except in sickness, regarded the mention of any s.icred name or subject on a week day as a sort of sacrilege.

Once and once only, they were very happy picking peas together in the kitchen garden, she had asked him if he " understood why" the cock should have crowed jmt at the right time to reprove St. Peter ?

" I understand nothing, my dear — not as much as why the peas grow sideways in the pods," said the Squire. "What you and I have got to mind, Kate, is to do our duty at all times, and believe what the parson tells us in church of a Sundaj r . "

And this answer had been sufficient to warn the child for ever off all controversial or doctrinal ground, as far as her stepfather was concerned.

From her mother the only allusion she ever heard to a life higher than one of medicine-taking and novel-reading, was when Mrs Hilliard would plaintively murmur of how she had given up her personal welfare, temporal and eternal, for her children's sake. A statement which, coming from a human creature lying on a luxurious sofa, and with as much calf's-foot jelly as she chose to eat at her side, was too mysterious and awful to bear much real significance to a child's mind. Arabella, until her marriage, never exhibited any fruits of Protestant belief more convincing than the possession of a purple-velvet church service, which Kate was not allowed to touch ; and Dot, when Dot appeared on the scene, was frankly and widiout affectation a pagan.

"You fret to be Catholique once more ?" Dora had said in the early days of her arrival, and when Kate, relying on her cousin's childish appearance for sympathy, had bared \o her the state of her conscience. " Bah ! they are one so good as ze other. Catholique in Paris — Protestant in England ! Go — what matters it?"

These had been the spiritual influences of Katharine's life ; the influences which had so signalty failed to efface the convent chapel with its gilded shrine and snowwhite lilies, its solemn mass and plaintive nun-chanted Litanies, from her heart.

Into the intrinsic truth or error of conflicting creeds she had, I must confess, not striven to penetrate very far. Katharine Fane was not what many people call " intellectual," and her active out-of-door habits — varied latterly by a few weeks' unresting London excitement during the season — left her little time for theological, or, indeed, for deep studies of any kind. Her ideal of life had always

been that it-should be 1 'thoroughly enjoyable and picturesque ; a life in which everybody, rich and 'poor, should love Katharine Fane ! a life made up of flowers- • and sunshine ; pictures, • music, pretty . things of all sorts ; , with a picturesque religion (the old church seemed such an - one to her) to correspond. ' And until the last few week 3 the possibility of existence yielding more than such facile inch-deep happiness, had never troubled Katharine's imagination. She wa3 handsome and ' young, and could make everybody think as she liked ; and when she was Lady/ Petres she would restore the old Catholic' chapel down at Eccleston, and go back openly to the church herself, and have a chaplain with a pathetic voice to say daily mass, and convert all the Protestant poor on her husband's estates, and found a convent, in which Dot, if she did not marry, might take refuge. This had been | her dream ; this, as Mrs Dering well knew, was the rock of strength on which Katharine's fidelity to her engagement rested.

" You know that what I say is true, Kate. You know that for every reason your marriage with Lord Petres will be an excellent one — and if you would only listen to me, if you would only have a little more faith in my experience, you would not delay your engagement too long. Dora, from what slie tells me, islikely to be married before the winter, and I really do not see what but perversity, Kate, can mike you wish to remain at home after she is gone. "

Katharine turned her head impatiently aside from her sister. Far away across the purple bay she could see a dark spot upon the waters ; and her heart told her tnat it was Steven's boat.

"Yes," went on Mrs Dering, in her measured voice, "there is, I suppose, no longer ary doubt about it. The young man is here, Dora says, every day of his life ; and of course all we can do now is to bear the mesalliance with the best grace possible. What do you say Kate 7] "I say nothing, Bella. I'm stupid^ and out of spirits, I think — at all events, 1 don't mean to talk about any more love affairs, if I cau help it, to-night."

" What, not when your favorite Steven is the hero 1 Surely you have not lost your interest in him already, dear Katha-

Dear Katharine continued silently to watch the boat and the figure in it as both grew gradually more and more distinct : and Mrs Dering, after vainly wa ; ting some minutes for a reply, took herself off in despair to Dot, who, very sylvan-looking in a pale green muslin dress, and with a natural rose in her short hair, was arranging cups and saucers on a rustic table at the other ehd of the terrace.

"It has taken ten years to make Uncle Frank consent to have coffee out of doors in hot weather," said Dot, "but I have got my own wjy about it at last. What is the good of having a garden, and terraces, and natural flowers, I say, unless one uses them ? English people say they like the country — perhaps they do, in a cow-like ruminating fashion — but they certainly don't know how to enjoy it : no, not half as much as the smallest Parisian shopkeeper, who all through the fine season, at least, goes and drinks his coffee out of doors in the Bois." "Possibly English people can enjoy the country without eating and drinking out of doors," remarked Mrs Dering, sententiously. "English people don't pretend, you know, Dora, to be always turning life into fete days, like the French " "They don't indeed!" interrupted Dora. "The worse for those whose lot it is to live among them !" "Well, my dear," said Mrs Dering, "when you have a horne — a nice little rural home of your own, you will be able to take your coffee out of doors every evening of your life, and play at fete-days, and fancy yourself in France again, as much as you like. At all events," she added, "lam glad to think, Dora, that you are beginning to talk of enjoying country pleasures in any form. If, as you tell me, you allow Mr Steven Lawrence to come here every day of the week, there is not much doubt, I suppose, what your future life is going to be." " I allow 1" cried Dot, with one of her mocking laughs. " Katharine allows, you mean. I told you Steven Lawrence came here every evening, as regularly as the sun sets, and so he does — but not for me. I never take to myself attentions meant in reality for others, Bella dear ! At first the poor fellow used to try and fixd excuses for coming so often. He had a message for the Squire, or the weather was so fine he thought the young ladies would like to go out a bit in his boat, but now he comes daily and with no excuse at all. Comes to see Kate, bien entendu, and Kate alone ; and thinks about as much of me as he does of Zuleika. " " It is impossible that he can think of anybody but you," said Mrs Dering, with calm incredulity. ' "Quite impossible;' from the little I saw of him in } town I should judge' Steven Lawrence- to 'bb a""

'Chorofighly sensible'young mail. He feels -*ky, tto doubt, JD&ca, and-addresses. him- , self to Kate ( ratjKpr than you" until he <}an feel -sure what "ground lie stands •upoTk," j ; Dot gave a meaning little shrug of the shoulders by way of reply, and just dt this moment the Squire with Lord Haverstock and the rector — all looking as picturesque as men generally do in black suits and white ties — made their appear- - ance- on the terrace, followed, aftetf an intewo.l, by Lord PetTes, wrapped up as usual, and with his French vaiet_ bearing An immense seal- skin rug and a heap of Scotch plaids behind. , "You are right to take precautions, . Lord Petres," said Mrs Dering : Kathariue, Avho had slowly saxintered up, having asked him if he was going to Siberia. 1 <l However nne the weatner looks I never myself that the evening air is not really damp before August. Thanks," as Lord Petres offered her a share of the seal-skin. " Fond as Tarn of the country and everything belonging to it, I must confess that I prefer sitting on a good thick fur to the damp ground, Kate, dear, there is room still for you." "Thank yoti, Bella," said Katharine, " it makes me quite warm enough to look at you both ;" for Mrs Dering, with tine appreciation of furs in July, had seated herself at her future brother-in-law's sido. "In weather like this the colder and damper everything feels the better I say. Isn't the sea green to-night, Lord Havt-r-stock ? doesn't the very look of it always make you wish you were there ?" The very sound of a lady's veice, pro-

pounding a direct question to himself, always startled Lord Haverstock to an >«-..exteiit -that made him wish, "himself in truth at the very bottom of the sea. But feeling rthat it was an occasion on -which something complimentary might be expected of him, the poor boy answered, after shifting about his large Kands and feet in tortures of shyness, that he thought it was very pleasant here, that is to say, lie • didn't know, really, whether it was

possible for a fellow to be better off than they all were now, but of course " " 1 have often thought, Miss Fane," ' said the rector, speaking in the welltrained, well-pitched tone th?t always su fatally reminded Katharine of some one reading aloud out of an improving book, " I have often thought how 'the viefr from your terrace reminds one of bits of the Mediterranean, flowers at one's feet, evergreens growing close down to the water, the smooth blue bay beyond, the distant

line of coast which, fancy aiding somewhat, might be Ischia or Capri, the "

"What, Steven!" interrupted Dot's ringing voice, amidst a little clatter of the coliee cups :' " I declare you looked just like the figure in Don Giovanni, rising up suddenly in that spectro-like way from nowhere ! Arabella — Mr Lawrence — Katharine dear, here is Steven. 7 ' (To be continued. )