getting hold of the lady's hand.
'What would she do to you, then?'
'She would--only--be dreadful!' said Kate.
Lord de la Poer laughed; but observed, 'Well, is it not enough to make one dreadful to have little girls taking unexpected baths in public? Now, Kate, please to inform me, in confidence, what was the occasion of that remarkable somerset.'
'Only the lightning,' muttered Kate.
'Oh! I was not certain whether your intention might not have been to make that polite address to an aquatic bird, for which you pronounced Mary not to have sufficient courage!'
Lady de la Poer, thinking this a hard trial of the poor child's temper, was just going to ask him not to tease her; but Kate was really candid and good tempered, and she said, 'I was wrong to say that! It was Mary that had presence of mind, and I had not.'
'Then the fruit of the adventure is to be, I hope, Look Before you Leap!--Eh, Lady Caergwent?'
And at the same time the train stopped, and among kisses and farewells, Kate and kind Lady de la Poer left the carriage, and entering the brougham that was waiting for them, drove to Bruton Street; Kate very grave and silent all the way, and shrinking behind her friend in hopes that the servant who opened the door would not observe her plight--indeed, she took her hat off on the stairs, and laid it on the table in the landing.
To her surprise, the beginning of what Lady de la Poer said was chiefly apology for not having taken better care of her. It was all quite true: there was no false excuse made for her, she felt, when Aunt Barbara looked ashamed and annoyed, and said how concerned she was that her niece should be so unmanageable; and her protector answered,
'Not that, I assure you! She was a very nice little companion, and we quite enjoyed her readiness and intelligent interest; but she was a little too much excited to remember what she was about when she was startled.'
'And no wonder,' said Lady Jane. 'It was a most tremendous storm, and I feel quite shaken by it still. You can't be angry with her for being terrified by it, Barbara dear, or I shall know what you think of me;--half drowned too--poor child!'
And Aunt Jane put her soft arm round Kate, and put her cheek to hers. Perhaps the night of Kate's tears had really made Jane resolved to try to soften even Barbara's displeasure; and the little girl felt it very kind, though her love of truth made her cry out roughly, 'Not half drowned! Mary held me fast, and Lord de la Poer pulled me out!'
'I am sure you ought to be extremely thankful to them,' said Lady Barbara, 'and overcome with shame at all the trouble and annoyance you have given!'
Lady de la Poer quite understood what the little girl meant by her aunt being dreadful. She would gladly have protected her; but it was not what could be begged off like punishment, nor would truth allow her to say there had been no trouble nor annoyance. So what she did say was, 'When one has ten children, one reckons upon such things!' and smiled as if they were quite pleasant changes to her.
'Not, I am sure, with your particularly quiet little girls,' said Aunt Barbara. 'I am always hoping that Katharine may take example by them.'
'Take care what you hope, Barbara,' said Lady de la Poer, smiling: 'and at any rate forgive this poor little maiden for our disaster, or my husband will be in despair.'
'I have nothing to forgive,' said Lady Barbara gravely. 'Katharine cannot have seriously expected punishment for what is not a moral fault. The only difference will be the natural consequences to herself of her folly.--You had better go down to the schoolroom, Katharine, have your tea, and then go to bed; it is nearly the usual time.'
Lady de la Poer warmly kissed the child, and then remained a little while with the aunts, trying to remove what she saw was the impression, that Kate had been complaining of severe treatment, and taking the opportunity of telling them what she herself thought of the little girl. But though Aunt Barbara listened politely, she could not think that Lady de la Poer knew anything about the perverseness, heedlessness, ill-temper, disobedience, and rude ungainly ways, that were so tormenting. She said no word about them herself, because she would not expose her niece's faults; but when her friend talked Kate's bright candid conscientious character, her readiness, sense, and intelligence, she said to herself, and perhaps justly, that here was all the difference between at home and abroad, an authority and a stranger.
Meantime, Kate wondered what would be the natural consequences of her folly. Would she have a rheumatic fever or consumption, like a child in a book?--and she tried breathing deep, and getting up a little cough, to see if it was coming! Or would the Lord Chancellor hear of it? He was new bugbear recently set up, and more haunting than even a gunpowder treason in the cellars! What did he do with the seals? Did he seal up mischievous heiresses in closets, as she had seen a door fastened by two seals and a bit of string? Perhaps the Court of Chancery was full of such prisons! And was the woolsack to smother them with, like the princes in the Tower?
It must be owned that it was only when half asleep at night that Kate was so absurd. By day she knew very well that the Lord Chancellor was only a great lawyer; but she also knew that whenever there was any puzzle or difficulty about her or her affairs, she always heard something mysteriously said about applying to the Lord Chancellor, till she began to really suspect that it was by his commands that Aunt Barbara was so stern with her; and that if he knew of her fall into the pond, something terrible would come of it. Perhaps that was why the De la Poers kept her name so secret!
She trembled as she thought of it; and here was another added to her many terrors. Poor little girl! If she had rightly feared and loved One, she would have had no room for the many alarms that kept her heart fluttering!
CHAPTER IX.
It may be doubted whether Countess Kate ever did in her childhood discover what her Aunt Barbara meant by the natural consequences of her folly, but she suffered from them nevertheless. When the summer was getting past its height of beauty, and the streets were all sun and misty heat, and the grass in the parks looked brown, and the rooms were so close that even Aunt Jane had one window open, Kate grew giddy in the head almost every morning, and so weary and dull all day that she had hardly spirit to do anything but read story- books. And Mrs. Lacy was quite poorly too, though not saying much about it; was never quite without a head-ache, and was several times obliged to send Kate out for her evening walk with Josephine.
It was high time to be going out of town; and Mrs. Lacy was to go and be with her son in his vacation.
This was the time when Kate and the Wardours had hoped to be together. But 'the natural consequence' of the nonsense Kate had talked, about being 'always allowed' to do rude and careless things, and her wild rhodomontade about romping games with the boys, had persuaded her aunts that they were very improper people for her to be with, and that it would be wrong to consent to her going to Oldburgh.
That was one natural consequence of her folly. Another was that when the De la Poers begged that she might spend the holidays with them, and from father and mother downwards were full of kind schemes for her happiness and good, Lady Barbara said to her sister that it was quite impossible; these good friends did not know what they were asking, and that the child would again expose herself in some way that would never be forgotten, unless she were kept in their own sight till she had been properly tamed and reduced to order.
It was self-denying in Lady Barbara to refuse that invitation, for she and her sister would have been infinitely more comfortable together without their troublesome countess--above all when they had no governess to relieve them of her. The going out of town was sad enough to them, for they had always paid a long visit at Caergwent Castle, which had felt like their home through the lifetime of their brother and nephew; but now it was shut up, and their grief for their young nephew came back all the more freshly at the time of year when they were used to be kindly entertained by him in their native home.
But as they could not go there, they went to Bournemouth and the first run Kate took upon the sands took away all the giddiness from her head, and put an end to the tired feeling in her limbs! It really was a run! Aunt Barbara gave her leave to go out with Josephine; and though Josephine said it was very sombre and savage, between the pine-woods and the sea, Kate had not felt her heart leap with such fulness of enjoyment since she had
