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CHAPTER XIII

THE bride in her bridal finery stood by the altar. The bridegroom, with a light in his eyes and joy in his heart, was by her side. The solemn words were spoken by the priest, and the two were made one. Kate Bouverie was Kate Bouverie no longer, she was now Kate Henley.

The wedding was a complete success, and surely no bride ever before looked more charming. There were several newspaper reporters present to record the fact of her loveliness. The local papers and several of the best known London weeklies contained accounts of the wedding, and photographs of the bride in her bridal finery and in one or two of her other dresses accompanied these descriptions.

Yes, Kate was married. She had married the man to whom she had given her heart; she had therefore won the best bliss of all. The moment arrived when she stood in her travelling dress and bade her supposed uncle and aunt good-bye. She kissed Mary and Ethel too, and stepped into the carriage by her husband's side. Marryat had already driven to the station in a humbler conveyance. Marryat was, of course, to accompany her young mistress on her wedding tour.

Rice and old slippers and all sorts of good luck followed the bride and bridegroom. They were away. The deed was done. A friend of Ralph's | | 118 had given up his place in Berkshire to them for a week, and afterwards they started in Henley's yacht for Norway. They were absent for three months. During that time the Humes heard very little about them. But early in September a letter arrived from Kate. It was addressed to Ethel, and ran as follows:--

This letter was dated from Paris, but Kate had added a postscript to say that she and her husband would be at Castellis on the evening of the 10th.

"Oh," said Ethel, "I should like to go; it would give me just the change I long for. You will let me go, won't you, mother?"

"Of course, dear. But I almost wonder Kate cares to have visitors so soon. Surely she cannot be tired of that nice husband of hers."

"For my part," said Mr. Hume, who happened to come in at that moment, "I consider it very sensible of Kate. It is the worst thing in the world for a man and woman to tire of each other by having no one else to talk to. They have had three months of billing and cooing, and is not that enough for any sensible pair?"

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"And Kate at least is very sensible," said Ethel, in a meditative voice. "Yes, it will be splendid if we can go. I may accept the invitation, may I not, mother?"

"I don't see why Mary should not go too," said Mrs. Hume. "She is looking pale, and the change will do her good."

"But I am not quite sure that I want to," was Mary's answer.

"Why, my dear Mary, what is the meaning of this?" cried her father. "Nothing could be more cordial than Kate's wish to have you both with her."

"Oh, I have nothing to say with regard to the cordiality," answered Mary, "but I am not quite certain that I care about Kate."

"Not care about Kate!" cried the other three voices in a sort of chorus.

"Mary, how terribly prejudiced of you!" added her father.

"Indeed, you are prejudiced, Mary," said the mother. "A more charming, pleasant, delightful girl than Kate I never came across."

"Oh, I admit all that," said Mary. " But I am not sure of her; that is why I do not like her."

"Not sure of her, my dear! What do you mean?"

"What I say," answered Mary. "She strikes me as--"

"As what?"

"As an excellent actress."

"Really, Mary, you are too absurd for anything," said Ethel. "Kate an actress? What has she to act about?"

"That's just what I do not know," said Mary. "But I always feel that she is acting a part, and doing it extremely well. From the first moment she | | 120 appeared on the scene I have had that sensation with regard to her. But there, if you really wish me to go, mother--"

"I certainly do, Mary."

"Then I will go, of course, for it is wrong to yield to prejudice."

Ethel laughed.

"You have the most absurd ideas," she said; "we ought not even to listen to you. Oh, I am so glad we can both go. Father, I shall want a new dress, and so will Mary. Kate, of course, will take us out a good deal. I must have a new tennis frock; may I order one?"

"I suppose you may, my dear," said Hume, who for some reason was in a high good-humour. "Will a ten-pound note suit you, Ethel?"

"Excellently, father. May I spend it all on dress?"

"Of course you may. You must make yourself smart. There's no saying what charming young fellow you may meet at Castellis." He pinched his daughter's cheek as he spoke. She flushed up rosily and laughed for pure joy.

"You'll give poor old Moll a ten-pound note too?" she said.

"Oh! I don't want it," answered Mary, "I have plenty of dresses."

"Well, take it, my dear, to buy what you like with," said the lawyer, opening his pocket-book as he spoke and presenting Mary with a note similar to the one he had just given to Ethel. "Now, girls," he continued, "what day will you start?"

"This is Thursday," said Ethel. "We could get some ready-made things at Redmayne's, and could go next Monday."

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"Very well, be it so," replied their father.

Ethel sat down at her desk and wrote to Kate. Mary slowly left the room. She went upstairs, pausing for a moment on the first landing. Her own room was overhead. After a minute's brief hesitation she entered the room which had been given to Kate during her visit to the Grange.

Hanging above the mantelpiece was the little water-colour drawing which had been taken of the real Kate Bouverie when she was a child. Mary went straight up to it now and looked at it critically.

"Just the same face," she said to herself, "just the same in every single particular except for the expression. The eyes, the nose, the mouth, the general shape, all identical with the Kate who slept in this room; but the expression--the expression is totally different. What can it mean? Oh! I shall get morbid over this thing if I dwell on it too much. And I have nothing to go upon. Of course it must be all right; but I wish I did not feel so positive, so absolutely certain, that things are wrong."

Early the next day the girls went to Redmayne's and ordered some pretty tennis frocks. They always dressed alike, and the costumes they ordered were exactly similar.

Mary said nothing more of her undefined prejudice against Kate, and the next Monday they started for Cornwall. They arrived at the station near Castellis late in the afternoon, and found Kate and her husband on the platform waiting to receive them. Kate's face was blooming like a rose. She ran up to the girls and kissed them affectionately.

"Welcome, both of you," she cried. "I am so delighted to see you. Is not it nice of them to come, | | 122 alph?" Here she turned to her husband. He also gave Mary and Ethel a hearty welcome. The three got into a pretty pony carriage, Kate whipped up the ponies, and they started for Castellis. Ralph shouted after that he would follow later on horseback.

Ethel and Mary had not visited Castellis since they were children, and they were wild with excitement at the thought of exploring the old place again.

"But," said Mary, "it does seem so funny that you should have let the Pines, Kate. You and my uncle always had such an extraordinary aversion to letting it. For the ten or twelve years you were in India the place was unlet, and now the moment you come home you give it up to the first man who wants to live there. You could not have done it for the sake of the mere money."

"Oh, by no means," answered Kate. "I only thought as an offer was made for the place we might as well accept it. It was going to ruin with no one living there."

"What is the name of the man who has taken it?" asked Mary.

"Sir John Fenton-Douglas. I don't know anything whatever about him. I believe he has a large family."

"Well, I am sorry for my part," said Mary.

"I think Kate was very sensible," retorted Ethel. "What was the good of allowing the place to remain idle?"

"Sensible, but untrue to her early character," was Mary's answer.

"Well, don't let us talk about it any more," said | | 123 Kate. "I am so glad to see you both, and you look remarkably well."

"So do you," replied Ethel. "I am glad you are happy, Kate; but I always thought you would be, as Ralph's wife."

"I certainly am," answered Kate, her face flushing with gratification. "Ralph is as nearly perfect as man can be. I am the luckiest of girls to have won him for a husband."

"Oh!" said Mary suddenly, standing up in her seat as she spoke, "there's the avenue leading to the dear old Pines. Don't I remember that gate well!"

"Sit down, Mary, or you'll be knocked out," said Kate; "the ponies are very frisky."

Mary dropped again into her seat.

"Kate, Kate," she exclaimed, almost forgetting herself in her excitement, "do you see that gap in the hedge? I declare it has never been mended after all these years. It was there you tore your frock when the bull followed you and Ralph came to the rescue. Don't you remember it? And Ethel and I hid ourselves in the grass, and you flung yourself by our sides. Oh, don't you remember?"

"Of course," said Kate. "Yes, certainly." She began to whip the ponies.

"What are you doing that for?" exclaimed Ethel. "They are going too fast as it is. What is the matter with you, Kate? I don't believe you are so strong after, all; your colour keeps coming and going."

"I am all right," answered Kate. She let the reins drop loose, and the ponies began to walk up a steep hill.

"Oh that day!" continued Mary, who had not yet got over her excitement. "We had a near shave all | | 124 of us, and but for Ralph I do believe the bull would have gored you, Kate."

"What was the name of the beast?" said Ethel suddenly. "He was fierce and awful; and my poor uncle was so proud of him; even after he had jeopardised your clear little life he would not allow him to be sold. What did we call him? He had a queer name, I know."

"Taurus," said Kate, drawing a bow at a venture.

"Taurus!" replied Mary, with a somewhat scornful laugh. "Nothing of the kind." She gave Kate a long, attentive, penetrating glance. "The name was not Taurus, I am certain," she continued. " What could it have been?"

She taxed her memory, knitting her brows in vain. Kate said nothing further; she drove on.

"When will the new people arrive at the Pines?" asked Mary.

"To-morrow, I believe," answered Kate. "And Ralph means to call on them immediately. I hope they will be nice. Such near neighbours would he terrible if they did not turn out satisfactory."

"Oh, they are sure to be delightful," said Mary. "Only a man with taste would care to live in an artistic sort of place like the Pines."

"Are you letting the house with all the old pictures?" said Ethel suddenly. "You know the picture gallery is famous. You ought to have had the pictures removed to Castellis. Didn't you think of that?"

"No, I didn't," answered Kate. "I cannot think of everything all at once," she added petulantly. "Well, here we are."

The ponies had drawn up at the front door; the girls entered the wide hall. It was made of marble, | | 125 and so were the low stairs which led to the first storey. Kate danced about, showing different improvements. Mary began: "Oh, Ethel, don't you remember?" and Ethel capped Mary's reminiscences with many of her own. They ran upstairs to the spacious bedroom provided for them--it had been newly furnished, and the little beds with their brass rails and light summer drapery called forth their highest eulogiums.

"Now, girls, you had better dress for dinner," said Kate. "Ralph will be home soon. We dine at half-past seven. I will send Marryat to help you."

"But you know we are not accustomed to a maid," said Ethel.

"You had better have her to-night. She will unpack your things. I must leave you now."

Kate left the room. A moment later Marryat knocked at the door, and coming in, offered her help. As she unpacked the girls' portmanteaus she talked to them, telling them what a happy bride and bridegroom Mr. and Mrs. Henley were, how gay and bright and fascinating Kate was, and what a lovely place their new home appeared to be.

As Marryat spoke she looked from time to time at Mary. It seemed to Mary as if the woman had a certain sympathy with her, as if she and Marryat held a thought in common. Mary shook the idea from her mind, but it kept returning again and again. Meanwhile Henley had come home, and having completed his evening toilet, went into his wife's room. Kate was fastening a diamond star into her hair. Ralph laid his hand on her round white arm.

"Prepare for a surprise, little woman," he said.

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"A surprise!" she answered. "What do you mean?"

"You know the people who have taken the Pines?"

"Yes," answered Kate, "certainly--Sir John and Lady Fenton-Douglas."

"I have quite a romance to tell you about them. He has not long been Sir John Fenton-Douglas."

"Oh!" answered Kate. She stood perfectly still; her arms had dropped to her sides. Although she could not guess the reason, her heart gave a thump and then began to beat quickly.

"Yes," she continued, struggling against an undefined sense of uneasiness; "yes, Ralph?"

"My darling, you look quite ill and tired. It seems almost a pity that Sir John has ceased to act as a doctor."

"A doctor! a doctor!" said Kate. She was puzzled by an undefined memory.

"Why, my darling Kitty, do you know who he is? No less a person than the Dr. Fenton who attended your little friend, Kate Mildmay, at Mentone."

"No, no, Ralph; no, no--impossible!" Kate staggered, turned white as death, and dropped into a chair.

"I said you were ill. What in the world is the matter?"

"I am astonished and--oh, Ralph! it brings back old memories and old sorrows. But it is not true. I don't like it, Ralph. It is not true."

"My darling, why should it not be true? What can it matter to us? It is true, dearest. He has come in for his cousin's title, and had to take the name with his large fortune. He only rents the Pines until his own place in the north of England is | | 127 ready. How surprised he will be when he sees you again! You knew him pretty well, did you not, Kate?"

"No, very, very slightly; hardly at all," said Kate. "Let us go down to dinner now, Ralph; I am so hungry."

She held her head high, and the usual colour was back in her cheeks. Her eyes were brighter than ever. Just at the moment when all seemed most secure she found herself in a tight corner. Well, never mind, she had braved greater dangers than this. She would see her way out somehow somehow. There was no chance of Sir John Fenton-Douglas, alias Dr. Fenton, coming across her path for another twenty-four hours.