Ombra. Маргарет Олифант
the same curling brown hair, the same features, the same figure. Gradually, however, the uncertainty cleared away from Kate’s face.
‘It must be you,’ she said, still very seriously. ‘You are not quite so tall, and I think I remember your eyes. You must be Bertie, I am sure.’
‘We are both Bertie,’ said the young man, laughing.
‘Ah! but you must be my Bertie; I am certain of it,’ said Kate. Not a gleam of maiden consciousness was in her; she said it with all simplicity and seriousness. She did not understand the colour that came to one Bertie’s face or the smile that flashed over the other; and she held out her hand to the one whom she had selected. ‘I am so glad to see you. Come in, and tell me all about Langton. Dear old Langton! Though you were so disagreeable about the size of the park–’
‘I will never be disagreeable again.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ cried Kate, interrupting him. ‘As if one could stop being anything that is natural! My aunt is somewhere about, and Ombra is in the drawing-room. Come in. Perhaps, though, you had better tell me who this—other gentleman– Why, Mr. Bertie, I am not quite sure, after all, which is the other and which is you!’
‘This is my cousin, Bertie Eldridge,’ said her old friend. ‘You will soon know the difference. You remember what an exemplary character I am, and he is quite the reverse. I am always getting into trouble on his account.’
‘Miss Courtenay will soon know better than to believe you,’ said the other; at which Kate started and clapped her hands.
‘Oh! I know now that is not your voice. Ombra, please, here are two gentlemen–’
This is how the two cousins were introduced into the Cottage. They had been there before separately; but neither Mrs. Anderson nor her daughter knew how slight was the acquaintance which entitled Kate to qualify one of the new-comers as ‘my Bertie.’ They were both young, not much over twenty, and their likeness was wonderful; it was, however, a likeness which diminished as they talked, for their expression was as different as their voices. Kate had no hesitation in appropriating the one she knew.
‘Tell me about Langton,’ she said—‘all about it. I have heard nothing for nearly a year. Oh! don’t laugh. I know the house stands just where it used to stand, and no one dares to cut down the trees. But itself– Don’t you know what Langton means to me?’
‘Home?’ said Bertie Hardwick, but with a little doubt in his tone.
‘Home!’ repeated Kate; and then she, too, paused perplexed. ‘Not exactly home, for there is no one there I care for—much. Oh! but can’t you understand? It is not home; I am much happier here; but, in a kind of a way, it is me!’
Bertie Hardwick was puzzled, and he was dazzled too. His first meeting with her had made no small impression upon him; and now Kate was almost a full-grown woman, and the brightness about her dazzled his eyes.
‘It cannot be you now,’ he said. ‘It is—let.’
Kate gave a fierce little cry, and clenched her hands.
‘Oh! Uncle Courtenay, I wish I could just kill you!’ she said, half to herself.
‘It is let, for four or five years, to the only kind of people who can afford to have great houses now—to Mr. Donkin, who has a large—shop in town.’
Kate moaned again, but then recovered herself.
‘I don’t see that it matters much about the shop. I think if I were obliged to work, I should not mind keeping a shop. It would be such fun! But, oh! if Uncle Courtenay were only here!’
‘It is better not. There might be bloodshed, and you would regret it after,’ said Bertie, gravely.
‘Don’t laugh at me; I mean it. And, if you won’t tell me anything about Langton, tell me about yourself. Who is he? What does he mean by being so like you? He is different when he talks; but at the first glance– Why do you allow any one to be so like you, Mr. Bertie? If he is not nice, as you said–’
‘I did not mean you to believe me,’ said Bertie. ‘He is the best fellow going. I wish I were half as good, or half as clever. He is my cousin, and just like my brother. Why, I am proud of being like him. We are taken for each other every day.’
‘I should not like it,’ said Kate. ‘Ombra and I are not like each other, though we are cousins too. Do you know Ombra? I think there never was any one like her; but, on the whole, I think it is best to be two people, not one. Are you still at Oxford?—and is he at Oxford? Mr. Bertie, if I were you, I don’t think I should be a clergyman.’
‘Why?’ said Bertie, who, unfortunately for himself, was much of her mind.
‘You might not get a living, you know,’ said Kate.
This she said conscientiously, to prepare him for the fact that he was not to have Langton-Courtenay; but his laugh disconcerted her, and immediately brought before her eyes the other idea that his objectionable uncle, who had a park larger than Langton, might have a living too. She coloured high, having begun to find out, by means of her education in the Cottage, when she had committed herself.
‘Or,’ she went on, with all the calmness she could command, ‘when you had a living you might not like it. The Rector here– Oh! of course he must be your uncle too. He is very good, I am sure, and very nice,’ said Kate, floundering, and feeling that she was getting deeper and deeper into the mire; ‘but it is so strange to hear him talk. The old women in the almshouses, and the poor people, and all that, and mothers’ meetings– Of course, it must be very right and very good; but, Mr. Bertie, nothing but mothers’ meetings, and old women in almshouses, for all your life–’
‘I suppose he has something more than that,’ said Bertie, half affronted, half amused.
‘I suppose so—or, at least, I hope so,’ said Kate. ‘Do you know what a mothers’ meeting is? But to go to Oxford, you know, for that–! If I were you, I would be something else. There must be a great many other things that you could be. Soldiers are not much good in time of peace, and lawyers have to tell so many lies—or, at least, so people say in books. I will tell you what I should advise, Mr. Bertie. Doctors are of real use in the world—I would be a doctor, if I were you.’
‘But I should not at all like to be a doctor,’ said Bertie. ‘Of all trades in the world, that is the last I should choose. Talk of mothers’ meetings! a doctor is at every fool’s command, to run here and there; and besides– I think, Miss Courtenay, you have made a mistake.’
‘I am only saying what I would do if it was me,’ said Kate, softly folding her hands. ‘I would rather be a doctor than any of the other things. And you ought to decide, Mr. Bertie; you will not be a boy much longer. You have got something here,’ and she put up her hand to her own soft chin, and stroked it gently, ‘which you did not have the last time I saw you. You are almost—a man.’
This for Bertie to hear, who was one-and-twenty, and an Oxford man—who had felt himself full grown, both in frame and intellect, for these two years past! He was wroth—his cheek burned, and his eye flashed. But, fortunately, Mrs. Anderson interposed, and drew her chair towards them, putting an end to the tête-à-tête. Mrs. Anderson was somewhat disturbed, for her part. Here were two young men—two birds of prey—intruding upon the stillness which surrounded the nest in which she had hidden an heiress. What was she to do? Was it safe to permit them to come, fluttering, perhaps, the nestling? or did stern duty demand of her to close her doors, and shut out every chance of evil? As soon as she perceived that the conversation between Kate and her Bertie was special and private, she trembled and interposed. She asked the young man all about his family, his sisters, his studies—anything she could think of—and so kept her heiress, as she imagined, safe, and the wild beast at bay.
‘You are sure your uncle approved of the Hardwicks as friends for you, Kate?’ she said that evening, when the visit had been talked over in full family conclave. Mrs. Anderson might make what pretence she pleased that they were only ordinary visitors, but the two Berties had made a commotion much greater than the Rector and his