Н. Самуэльян - Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid

“Ach!” she exclaimed, suddenly checking her laughter, and changing her smile to a frown; “the ribbon! he wears it still! What can it mean? No matter now! Ere long I shall unravel the skein of its silken mystery – even if this heart should be torn in the attempt!”

Chapter 33

Another of the Same

On that same morning, and about the same hour, a scene of remarkable parallelism was passing at Mount Welcome. Loftus Vaughan was holding dialogue with his daughter, as Jacob Jessuron with Judith – the subject very similar – the motives of planter and penn-keeper equally mean.

“You have sent for me, papa?” said Kate, entering the great hall in obedience to a summons from her father.

“Yes, Catherine,” replied Mr Vaughan, in a tone of unwonted gravity.

The grave tone was not needed. The “Catherine” was enough to tell Kate that her father was in one of his serious moods: for it was only when in this vein, that he ever pronounced her baptismal name in full.

“Sit down there,” he proceeded, pointing to a fauteuil in front of where he was himself seated. “Sit down, my daughter, and listen: I have something of importance to say to you.”

The young lady obeyed in silence, and not without a little of that reluctant gaucherie [510] which patients display when seating themselves in front of a physician, or a naughty child composing itself to listen to the parental lecture.

The natural gaiety of “Lilly Quasheba” was not easily restrained; and though the unusual gravity depicted in her father’s face might have checked it, the formality with which he was initiating the interview had an opposite effect. At the corners of her pretty little mouth might have been observed something that resembled a smile.

Her father did observe something that resembled it.

“Come, Catherine!” said he, reprovingly, “I have called you out to talk over a serious matter. I expect you to listen seriously, as becomes the subject.”

“Oh! papa, how can I be serious, till I know the subject? You are not ill, I hope?”

“Tut, no – no. It has nothing to do with my health – which, thank Providence, is good enough – nor yours neither. It is our wealth, not our health, that is concerned – our wealth, Catherine!”

The last phrase was uttered with emphasis, and in a confidential way, as if to enlist his daughter’s sympathies upon the subject.

“Our wealth, papa? I hope nothing has happened? You have had no losses?”

“No, child,” replied Mr Vaughan, now speaking in a fond, parental tone; “nothing of the sort, thanks to fortune, and perhaps a little to my own prudence. It is not losses I am thinking about, but gains.”

“Gains!”

“Ay, gains – gains, Catherine, which you can assist me in obtaining.”

“I, papa? How could I assist you? I know nothing of business – I am sure I know nothing.”

“Business! ha! ha! It’s not business, Kate. The part which you will have to play will be one of pleasure – I hope so, at least.”

“Pray tell me what it is, papa! I am sure I’m fond of pleasure at all times – everybody knows that.”

“Catherine!” said her father, once more adopting the grave tone, “do you know how old you are?”

“Certainly, papa! at least, what I have been told. Eighteen – just past last birthday.”

“And do you know what young girls should, and generally do, think about, when they come to be of that age?”

Kate either affected or felt profound ignorance of the answer she was expected to make.

“Come!” said Mr Vaughan, banteringly, “you know what I mean, Catherine?”

“Indeed, papa, I do not. You know I keep no secrets from you; you taught me not. If I had any, I would tell them to you.”

“I know you’re a good girl, Kate. I know you would. But that is a sort of secret I should hardly expect you to declare – even to me, your father.”

“Pray what is it, papa?”

“Why, at your age, Kate, most girls – and it is but right and natural they should – take to thinking about a young man.”

“Oh! that is what you mean! Then I can answer you, papa, that I have taken to thinking about one.”

“Ha!” ejaculated Mr Vaughan, in a tone of pleased surprise; “you have, have you?”

“Yes, indeed,” answered Kate, with an air of the most innocent naïveté . “I have been thinking of one – and so much, that he is scarce ever out of my mind.”

“Ha!” said the Custos, repeating his exclamation of surprise, and rather taken aback by a confession so unexpectedly candid. “Since how long has this been, my child?”

“Since how long?” rejoined Kate, musingly.

“Yes. When did you first begin to think of this young man?”

“Oh! the day before yesterday, after dinner – ever since I first saw him, father.”

“ At dinner you first saw him,” said Mr Vaughan, correcting his daughter. “But, no matter for that,” he continued, gleefully rubbing his hands together, and not noticing the puzzled expression upon Kate’s countenance. “It might be, that you did not think of him in the first moments of your introduction. It’s not often people do. A little bashfulness has to be got over. And so then, Kate, you like him now – you think you like him now?”

“Oh! father, you may be sure I do – better than any one I ever saw – excepting yourself, dear papa.”

“Ah! my little chit, that’s a different sort of liking – altogether different. The one’s love – the other is but filial affection – each very well in its place. Now, as you’re a good girl, Kate, I have a bit of pleasant news for you.”

“What is it, papa?”

“I don’t know whether I should tell you or not,” said the Custos, playfully patting his daughter upon the cheek; “at least, not now, I think. It might make you too happy.”

“Oh, papa! I have told you what you wished me; and I see it has made you happy. Surely you will not conceal what you say will do the same for me? What is the news?”

“Listen, then, Kate!”

Mr Vaughan bending forward, as if to make his communication more impressive, pronounced in a whisper: —

“He reciprocates your feeling – he likes you !”

“Father, I fear he does not,” said the young Creole, with a serious air.

“He does – I tell you so, girl. He’s over head and ears in love with you. I know it. In fact, I saw it from the first minute. A blind man might have perceived it; but then a blind man can see better than a young lady that’s in love. Ha! ha! ha!”

Loftus Vaughan laughed long and loudly at the jest he had so unexpectedly perpetrated: for at that moment he was in the very mood for merriment. His dearest dream was about to be realised. Montagu Smythje was in love with his daughter. That he knew before. Now his daughter had more than half admitted – in fact, quite confessed – that she liked Smythje; and what was liking but love ?

“Yes, Kate,” said he, as soon as his exultation had to some extent subsided, “you are blind, you little silly – else you might have seen it before. His behaviour would show how much he cares for you.”

“Ah! father, I think that his behaviour would rather show that he cares not for either of us. He is too proud to care for any one.”

“What! too proud? Nonsense! it’s only his way. Surely he has not shown anything of that to you, Kate?”

“I cannot blame him,” continued the young girl, still speaking in a serious tone. “The fault was not his. Your treatment of him, father – you must not be angry at me for telling you of it – now that I know all, dear papa – was it not enough to make him act as he has done?”

“My treatment of him!” cried the Custos, with a self-justifying, but puzzled look. “Why, child, you rave! I could not treat him better, if I was to try ever so. I have done everything to entertain him, and make him feel at home here. As to what he has done, it’s all nonsense about his pride: at least, with us he has shown nothing of the kind. On the contrary, he is acting admirably throughout the whole matter. Certainly, no man could behave with more politeness to you than Mr Smythje is doing?”