The Chaplain of the Fleet. Walter Besant

consolation for her affliction. The learned Boethius – ”

      “O Harry!” she cried, “do not talk to me of books. What can they say to comfort any one?”

      He smiled. Harry’s smile showed how much he pitied people not so learned as himself.

      “The greatest men,” he said, “have been comforted by books. Cicero, for instance… Nay, Kitty, I will not quote Cicero. I came to say that I am sorry indeed to learn that we shall lose thee for a time.”

      “Alas!” she said, “I must go. It is my father’s order.”

      “I am sure,” he replied, “that you would not leave us for a lighter reason. You know our hearts, Kitty, and how we all love you.”

      “I know – ” Kitty began to cry again. Everybody was so full of love and pity. “I know, Harry. And perhaps I shall never n – n – never see you again.”

      “And does that make this parting harder?” He turned very red, and laid his precious book of consolation on the table.

      “Why, of course it does,” she replied, wiping her eyes.

      “You shall see us again,” he went on earnestly. “You shall come back with me. Kitty, I will give you one twelvemonth of absence. You know I love you tenderly. But your father’s commands must be obeyed. Therefore for a whole year I shall not seek you out. Then, when I come for you, will you return with me, never to go away again?”

      “Oh!” she cried, clasping her hands, “how joyfully will I return!”

      The young man took her hand and raised it to his lips.

      “Divine maid!” he cried. “Fit to grace a coronet, or to make the home of a simple gentleman an Arcadia of pastoral pleasure!”

      “Do not mock me, Harry,” she said, snatching away her hand, “with idle compliments. But forget not to come and carry me away.”

      “Alas!” he said; “how shall I exist – how bear this separation for twelve long months? Oh, divine Kitty! Thou will remain an ever-present idea in my heart.”

      “Harry,” she burst out laughing in her tears, “think of the learned Boethius!”

      So he left her.

      In half an hour another visitor appeared.

      This time it was Will. He was in his usual careless disorder; his scarlet coat a good deal stained, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his wig awry, his boots dusty, his neckerchief torn, his hands and cheeks browned by the sun. He carried a horsewhip, and was followed by half-a-dozen dogs, who came crowding into the room after him.

      “So,” he said, sitting down and leaning his chin upon his whipstock, “thou must go, then?”

      “What do you want with me, Will?” she asked, angry that he should show so little sympathy.

      “Why,” he replied, rubbing his chin with the whipstock, ”not much, Kitty. Nancy will come to cry.”

      “Then you can go away, Will.”

      “I came to say, Kitty, that though you do be going to go” (Will easily dropped into country talk), “I shanna forget thee. There!”

      “Thank you, Will.”

      “As for the matter of that, I love thee – ah! like I love old Rover here.”

      “Thank you again, Will.”

      “And so I’ve brought along a sixpence – here it is – and we’ll break it together.” Here he bent and broke the coin with his strong fingers. “My half goes into my pocket – so; and the other half is thine – there.” He threw it on the table. “Well, that’s done.” He stood up, looked at me sorrowfully, and heaved a great sigh. “I doubt I’ve a done wrong. Hadst been going to stay, a’ woulden a’ spoke yet awhile. Liberty is sweet – girls are skittish. Well, we’ll take a twelvemonth yet. There’s no hurry. Plenty time before us. I shall have my liberty for that while. Mayhap I will fetch thee in the spring. Ay, May’s the best month to leave the dogs and the birds, though the vermin will begin to swarm – rot ’em! Come, Rover. Good-bye, wench.”

      He gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek, and turned away.

      The girl laughed. She did not pick up the broken sixpence, which, indeed, she hardly noticed, her mind being full of many things.

      Presently Nancy came, and the two girls spent a miserable evening together, in great love and friendship.

      Now, how could an ignorant country girl, who had never thought over these things at all, guess that she had engaged herself to be married, in one day, in one hour even, to two different men? Yet that was exactly what this foolish Kitty had actually done.

       FOOTNOTES

[A] When, some months later, Kitty went to the publisher, that gentleman informed her that there was no money to receive, because he had been a loser by the publication of the books.

      CHAPTER III

      HOW WE CAME TO LONDON ON THE COACH

      With the purpose, therefore, of carrying out my father’s injunctions, I remained for a few days at the Vicarage alone, having one servant to take care of me. But, had it not been for an accident, I might have remained at the village all my life. “For,” said Lady Levett, “it is but right, child, that the instructions of your father should be carried out; I should like to know, however, who is to take charge of thee to London, and how we are to get thee there? A young maid cannot be sent to London on a pack-horse, like a bundle of goods. As for Sir Robert, he goes no more to town, since he has ceased to be a member. I care not for the court, for my own part, and am now too old for the gaieties of London. Nancy will enjoy them, I doubt not, quite soon enough; and as for the boys, I see not very well how they can undertake so great a charge. I doubt, Kitty, that thou must come to the Hall, after all. You can be useful, child, and we will make you happy. There is the still-room, where, Heaven knows, what with the cowslip-wine, the strong waters, the conserving, pickling, drying, candying, and the clove gilliflowers for palleting, there is work enough for you and Nancy, as well as my still-room maid and myself. And just now, Sir Robert calling every day for a summer sallet (which wants a light hand), to cool his blood!”

      I would very willingly have gone to the Hall; I asked nothing better, and could think of nothing more happy for myself, if it could so be ordered. My father’s wishes must certainly be obeyed; but if no one at the Hall could take charge of me, it seemed, at first, as if there could be no going to London at all, for our farmers and villagers were no great travellers. None of them knew much of this vast round world beyond their own fields, unless it were the nearest market-town, or perhaps Maidstone, or even Canterbury. Now and again one of the rustics would go for a soldier (being crossed in love); but he never came home again to tell of his campaigns. Or one would go for a gentleman’s servant (being too lazy to work like his father); then he would return filled with all the wickedness of London, and stay corrupting the minds of the simple folk, till Sir Robert bade him pack and be off, for a pestilent fellow. Or one would go away to the nearest market-town to be apprenticed to a handicraft (being ambitious, as will happen even to simple clods, and aspiring to a shop). But if he succeeded, such an one would seldom come back to the place which gave him birth.

      An accident happened which served my purpose. There was a certain farmer on Sir Robert’s estate, whose sister had married a London tradesman of respectability and reputed honesty, named Samuel Gambit (he was a builder’s foreman, who afterwards became a master builder, and made great sums of money by taking city contracts. His son, after him, rose to be an alderman in the city of London). Whether the young woman was in ill health, or whether she was prompted by affection, I know not, but she left her husband for a space and journeyed into the country to see her friends and people. Now when I heard, by accident, that she was about to return, my heart fell, because I saw that my time was come, and that a proper person to take charge of me during the journey was found in Mrs. Gambit.

      Madam sent for her. She was a strong, well-built woman, of about six or seven and twenty, resolute