Cursed by a Fortune

There, to the young man’s great disgust, they stayed, and he waited for quite half an hour trying to control his temper, and devise some plan for trying to get his mother away.

At last she appeared, saying loudly as she looked back, “I shall be back directly, my dear,” and closed the door.

Claud appeared at once, and with a meaning smile at his mother, she crossed to the stairs, while as she ascended to her room the son went straight to the library and entered.

As he threw open the door he found himself face to face with his cousin, who, book in hand, was coming out of the room.

“Hallo!” he cried, with a peculiar laugh; “Where’s the old lady?”

“She has just gone to her room, Claud,” said Kate, quietly.

“Here, don’t be in such a hurry, little one,” he cried, pushing to the door. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said, quietly, though her heart was throbbing heavily; “I was going to take my book into the drawing-room.”

“Oh, bother the old books!” he cried, snatching hers away, and catching her by the wrist; “come and sit down; I want to talk to you.”

“You can talk to me in the drawing-room,” she said, trying hard to be firm.

“No, I can’t; it’s better here. I say, Kitty, when shall it be?”

“When shall what be?”

“Our wedding. You know.”

“Never,” she said, gravely, fixing her eyes upon his.

“What?” he cried. “What nonsense! You know how I love you. I do, ’pon my soul. I never saw anyone who took my fancy so before.”

“Do your mother and father know that you are talking to me in this mad way? – you, my own cousin?” she said, firmly.

“What do I care whether they do or no?” he said, with a laugh; “I’ve been weaned for a long time. I say, don’t hold me off; don’t play with a fellow like silly girls do. I love you ever so, and I’m always thinking about your beautiful eyes till I can’t sleep of a night. It’s quite right for you to hold me off for a bit, but there’s been enough of it, and I know you like me.”

“I have tried to like you as my cousin,” she said, gravely.

“That’ll do for a beginning,” he replied, laughingly; “but let’s get a little farther on now, I say. Kitty, you are beautiful, you know, and whenever I see you my heart goes pumping away tremendously. I can’t talk like some fellows do, but I can love a girl with the best of them, and I want you to pitch over all shilly-shally nonsense, and let’s go on now like engaged people.”

“You are talking at random and of what is unnatural and impossible. Please never to speak to me again like this, Claud; and now loose my wrist, and let me go.”

“Likely, when I’ve got you alone at last I say, don’t hold me off like this; it’s so silly.”

She made a brave effort to hide the alarm she felt; and with a sudden snatch she freed her wrist and darted across the room.

The flight of the hunted always gives courage to the hunter, and in this case he sprang after her, and the next minute had clasped her round the waist.

“Got you!” he said, laughingly; “no use to struggle; I’m twice as strong as you.”

“Claud! How dare you?” she cried, with her eyes flashing.

“’Cause I love you, darling.”

“Let go. It is an insult. It is a shame to me. Do you know what you are doing?”

“Yes; getting tighter hold of you, so as to kiss those pretty lips and cheeks and eyes – There, and there, and there!”

“If my uncle knew that you insulted me like this – ”

“Call him; he isn’t above two miles off.”

“Aunt – aunt!” cried the girl, excitedly, and with the hot, indignant tears rising to her eyes.

“Gone to lie down, while I have a good long loving talk with you, darling. Ah, it’s of no use to struggle. Don’t be so foolish. There, you’ve fought long enough. All girls do the same, because it is their nature to fool it. There! now I’m master; give me a nice, pretty, long kiss, little wifie-to-be. I say, Kitty, you are a beauty. Let’s be married soon. You don’t know how happy I shall make you.”

Half mad now with indignation and fear, she wrested herself once more free, and, scorning to call for help, she ran toward the fire place. But before she could reach the bell he struck her hand on one side, caught her closely now in his arms, and covered her face once more with kisses.

This time a loud cry escaped her as she struggled hard, to be conscious the next moment of some one rushing into the room, feeling herself dragged away, and as the word “Hound!” fell fiercely upon her ear there was the sound of a heavy blow, a scuffling noise, and a loud crash of breaking wood and glass.

Chapter Eleven

“My poor darling child! – Lie still, you miserable hound, or I’ll half strangle you.”

The words – tender and gentle as if it were a woman’s voice, fierce and loud as from an enraged man – seemed to come out of a thick mist in which Kate felt as if she were sick unto death. Then by degrees she grew conscious that she was being held tightly to the breast of of some one who was breathing hard from exertion, and tenderly stroking and smoothing her dishevelled hair.

The next moment there was a wild cry, and she recognised her aunt’s voice, as, giddy and exhausted, she clung to him who held her.

“What is it? What is it? Oh, Claud, my darling! Help, help, help! He’s killed him – killed.”

“Here, what’s the matter? Who called?” came from a little distance. Then from close at hand Kate heard her uncle’s voice through the mist. “What’s all this, Maria – John Garstang – Claud? Damn it all, can no one speak? – Kate, what is it?”

“This,” cried Garstang, sternly. “I came back just now, and hearing shrieks rushed in here, just in time to save this poor, weak, suffering child from the brutal insulting attack of that young ruffian.”

“He has killed him. James – he has killed him,” shrieked Mrs Wilton. “On, my poor dear darling boy!”

“Back, all of you. Be off,” roared Wilton, as half a dozen servants came crowding to the door, which he slammed in their faces, and turned the key. “Now, please let’s have the truth,” he cried, hotly. “Here, Kate, my dear; come to me.”

She made no reply, but Garstang felt her cling more closely to him.

“Will some one speak?” cried Wilton, again.

“The Doctor – send for the Doctor; he’s dead, he’s dead,” wailed Mrs Wilton, who was down upon her knees now, holding her son’s head in her lap; while save for a slight quiver of the muscles, indicative of an effort to keep his eyes closed, Claud made no sign.

“He is not dead,” said Garstang, coldly; “a knockdown blow would not kill a ruffian of his calibre.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Mrs Wilton, turning upon him now in her maternal fury; “he owns to it, he struck him down – my poor, poor boy. James, why don’t you send for the police at once? The cruelty – the horror of it! Kate, Kate, my dear, come away from the wretch at once.”

“Then you own that you struck him down?” cried Wilton, whose face was now black with a passion which made him send prudence to the winds, as he rose in revolt against one who had long been his master.

“Yes,” said Garstang, quietly, and without a trace of anger, though his tone was full of contempt; “I told you why.”