Family Pride; Or, Purified by Suffering. Mary Jane Holmes
developed very early, and fostered by Morris Grant, who had seen that his cousin had every advantage which Silverton could afford. Great pains, too, had been given to her style of playing while at Canandaigua, so that as a performer upon the piano she had few rivals in the seminary, while her bird-like voice filled every nook and corner of the room, where, on the night after her visit to Mrs. Woodhull, a select exhibition was held, Katy shining as the one bright star, and winning golden laurels for beauty, grace and perfect self-possession from others than Wilford Cameron, who was one of the invited auditors.
"Juno herself could not equal that," he thought, as Katy's fingers flew over the keys, executing a brilliant and difficult piece without a single mistake, and receiving the applause of the spectators easily, naturally, as if it were an everyday occurrence. But when by request she sang "Comin' through the Rye," Wilford's heart, if he had any before, was wholly gone, and he dreamed of Katy Lennox that night, wondering all the ensuing day how his haughty mother would receive that young schoolgirl as her daughter, wife of the son whose bride she fancied must be equal to the first lady in the land. And if Katy were not now equal she could be made so, Wilford thought, wondering if Canandaigua were the best place for her, and if she would consent to receive a year or two years' tuition from him, provided her family were poor. He did not know as they were, but he would ask, and he did, feeling a pang of regret when he heard to some extent how Katy was circumstanced. Mrs. Woodhull had never been to Silverton, and so she did not know of Uncle Ephraim, with his old-fashioned spouse and his older-fashioned sister, but she knew that they were poor—that some relation sent Katy to school; and she frankly told Wilford so, adding, as she detected the shadow on his face, that one could not expect everything, and that a girl like Katy was not found every day. Wilford admitted all this, growing more and more infatuated, until at last he consented to join the traveling party, provided Katy joined it too, and when on the morning of their departure for the Falls he seated himself beside her in the car, he could not well have been happier, unless she had really been his wife, as he so much wished she was.
It was a most delightful trip, and Wilford was better satisfied with himself than he had been before in years. His past life was not all free from error, and there were many sad memories haunting him, but with Katy at his side, seeing what he saw, admiring what he admired, and doing what he bade her do, he gave the bygones to the wind, feeling only an intense desire to clasp the young girl in his arms and bear her away to some spot where with her pure fresh life all his own he could begin the world anew, and retrieve the past which he had lost. This was when he was with Katy. Away from her he could remember the difference in their position, and prudential motives began to make themselves heard. Never but once had he taken an important step without consulting his mother, and then, alas! the trouble it brought him was not ended yet, and never would be ended until death had set its seal upon the brow of one almost as dear as Katy, though in a far different way. And this was why Katy came back to Silverton unengaged, leaving her heart with Wilford Cameron, who would first seek advice from his mother ere committing himself by word. He had seen the white-haired man with his coarse, linen coat and coarser pants, waiting eagerly for her when the train stopped at Silverton, but standing there as he did, with his silvery locks parted in the center, and shading his honest, open face, Uncle Ephraim looked like some patriarch of old rather than a man to be despised, and Wilford felt only a respect for him until he saw Katy's arms wound so lovingly around his neck as she kissed and called him Uncle Eph. That sight grated harshly, and Wilford, knowing this was the uncle of whom Katy had often spoken, felt glad that he was not bound to her by any pledge. Very curiously he looked after the couple, witnessing the meeting between Katy and old Whitey, and guessing rightly that the corn-colored vehicle was the one sent to transport Katy home. He was very moody for the remainder of the route between Silverton and Albany, where he parted with his Canandaigua friends, they going on to the westward, while he stopped all night in Albany, where he had some business to transact for his father. And this was why he did not reach New York until late in the afternoon of the following day.
He was intending to tell his mother everything, except indeed that he paid Katy's bills. He would rather keep that to himself, as it might shock his mother's sense of propriety and make her think less of Katy, impulsive, confiding Katy, little dreaming as on that rainy afternoon she sat in the kitchen at Silverton, with her feet in the stove-oven and the cat asleep in her lap, of the conversation taking place between Wilford Cameron and his mother. They had left the dinner table, and lighting his cigar, which for that one time the mother permitted in the parlor, Wilford opened the subject by asking her to guess what took him off so suddenly with Mrs. Woodhull.
The mother did not know—unless—and a strange light gleamed in her eyes, as she asked if it were some girl.
"Yea, mother, it was," and without any reservation Wilford frankly told the story of his interest in Katy Lennox.
He admitted that she was poor and unaccustomed to society, but he loved her more than words could express.
"Not as I loved Genevra," he said, as he saw his mother about to speak, and there came a look of intense pain into his fine eyes as he continued: "That was the passion of a boy of nineteen, simulated by secrecy, but this is different—this is the love of a mature man of thirty, who feels that he is capable of judging for himself."
In Wilford's voice there was a tone warning the mother that opposition would only feed the flame, and so she offered none directly, but heard him patiently to the end, and then quietly questioned him of Katy and her family, especially the last. What did he know of it? Was it one to detract from the Cameron line kept untarnished so long? Were the relatives such as he never need blush to own, even if they came there into their drawing-room, as they would come if Katy did?
Wilford thought of Uncle Ephraim as he had seen him upon the platform at Silverton, and could scarcely repress a smile as he pictured to himself his mother's consternation at beholding that man in her drawing-room, but he did not mention the deacon, though he acknowledged that Katy's family friends were not exactly the Cameron style. But Katy was young; Katy could be easily molded, and once away from her old associates, his mother and sisters could make of her what they pleased.
"I understand, then, that if you marry her you do not marry the family," and in the handsome, matronly face there was an expression from which Katy would have shrunk; could she have seen it and understood its meaning.
"No, I do not marry the family," Wilford rejoined, emphatically, but the expression of his face was different from his mother's, for where she thought only of herself, not hesitating to trample on all Katy's love of home and friends, Wilford remembered Katy, thinking how he would make amends for separating her wholly from her home, as he surely meant to do if he should win her. "Did I tell you," he continued, "that her father was a judge? She must be well connected on that side, though I never heard of a Judge Lennox in any of our courts."
"It must have been when you were in Europe the first time," Mrs. Cameron suggested, and as if the mention of Europe reminded him of something else, Wilford rejoined: "Katy would be kind to Jamie, mother. In some things she is almost as much a child as he, poor fellow," and again there came into his eyes a look of pain, while his voice was sadder in its tone, just as it always was when he spoke of little Jamie. "And now, what shall I do?" he asked, playfully. "Shall I propose to Katy Lennox, or shall I try to forget her?"
"I should not do either," was Mrs. Cameron's reply for she well knew that trying to forget her was the surest way of keeping her in mind, and she dared not confess to him how wholly she was determined that Katy Lennox should never be her daughter if she could prevent it.
If she could not, then as a lady and a woman of policy, she should make the most of it, receiving Katy kindly and doing her best to educate her up to the Cameron ideas of style and manner.
"Let matters take their course for a while," she said, "and see how you feel after a little. We are going to Newport the first of August, Jamie and all, and perhaps you may find somebody there infinitely superior to this Katy Lennox. That's your father's ring. He is earlier than usual to-night. I would not tell him yet till you are more decided," and the lady went hastily out into the hall to meet her husband.
A moment more and the elder Cameron appeared—a short, square-built man, with a face seamed with lines of care and