University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
Acton Hall.

TO a young girl accustomed to household
duties, the situation Kate had engaged
to occupy was all that could be
desired. The family was small and pleasant,
and her labors light; and the excellent
housekeeper, Mrs. Barnes, she found to be
a most agreeable companion.

Kate was naturally intelligent and active,
and having been accustomed, some years before,
to housework, she was soon able to perform
any duties that devolved upon her; so
ready, indeed, did Mrs Barnes find her,
that, scrupulous and particular as she was
in domestic matters, she did not hesitate to
give her her unqualified approbation.

Kate, too, found her duties less tedious
than she had dared expect. She liked the
country air, its freshness and purity contrasted
so advantageously with the stagnant atmosphere
of her residence in town. She
even began to feel an exhilarating joy, occasioned
by the active, innocent course of
life she was leading, and the calm pleasures
of a country residence, when the reflection
that she had introduced herself into that
happy family for a most unrighteous purpose,
turned all her joyful sensations into feelings
of remorse and bitterness.

Kate could not but love the family it was
her design to rob, or assist in robbing. Mrs.
Acton won her affections at the first interview,
and she was no less pleased with Edith
Irving, Mrs. Acton's sister. This young
lady was scarcely eighteen, and her appearance
was very much as one would have imagined
her sister's to have been at that age.
In disposition, too, they were alike, although
Edith was, perhaps, more impetuous than
Mrs. Acton had ever been, and united more
power of will with the excellent qualities
she possessed in common with her sister.—
To a mere admirer of beauty, the heart having
nothing to do with the question, it is
difficult to say which would have appeared
to the best advantage, Edith or Mrs. Acton;
for, although much alike, the soft beauty
and pleasing melancholy of the latter contrasted
strangely with her sister's more brilliant
charms, her innocent gayety and freshness
of spirits.

Having said thus much of the family in
question, it would be unpardonable in us
were we to pass on without bestowing a moment's
attention upon its head, who, by right,
should have been mentioned first.

Mr. Acton, who may be considered one
of the principal characters in this history,
was a gentleman of the most agreeable manners,
although cold and distant when it was
not his humor to be civil. He was seldom
influenced by the generous impulses which
governed his wife, yet he had the reputation
of being a benevolent man. Although
wealthy, it could never be laid to his charge
that he had horded up or made a bad use of
his riches, for his selfishness consisted in
other things. He had never been taught to
deny himself aught that could administer to
his individual happiness, and it may be seen

in the course of this history, that he sometimes
gratified his desires at the peril of
some occasional pangs of conscience. Mr.
Acton loved his wife devotedly, and perhaps
she was the only being on earth who
possessed any influence over his disposition;
for, although independent, cold, and severe
before the world, he was quite the contrary
whenever he came in contact with her. In
fact, he valued her love and esteem more
than he would have done the homages of
the world.

Kate could not but respect Mr. Acton, although
she dreaded his presence, and did
not like him. She saw at once that he was
not altogether happy, surrounded as he was
by all that can make life agreeable, and
judged that there must be some secret family
trouble which caused both him and his
wife to appear so melancholy.

Kate, the reader will observe, was not so
depraved as to be dead to the finer feelings
of our nature. She had sympathies which
could be aroused, and affections that she
could not govern. She had resolved, before
hand, to dislike the whole family, so that
when the time came for her to wrong them,
she could do so without a pang; but before
she had been with them a day, she found
that she felt something like love for them
all, Mr. Acton excepted. In the whole family
there was none, perhaps, she felt stronger
affection for than little Robert Acton—
her employer's only child. He was a pale,
delicate boy of four years, but spirited and
intelligent beyond his age.

Kate had been three days in this family,
and no suspicions on the part of her employers,
or fears of discovery on her own part,
had been awakened. An incident, however,
came near deranging all her schemes on the
fourth day of her residence in the country.

There was a young clergyman of talent
and respectability paying his addresses to
Edith Irving, and he was looked upon as a
favored suitor. His features were bold and
irregular, yet handsome; his eye quick and
full of expression; his forehead broad and
lofty; and his form possessed of manly proportions.
He was an Englishman by birth,
and nothing was known of him except what
he himself had given out; but he had been
placed at the head of a respectable congregation,
and had always conducted himself
with propriety before the world, thus gaining
a reputation for sobriety and piety, which
it grieves us to say, young, unmarried clergyman
do not always possess.

One day the young clergyman had been
conversing with Mrs. Acton and her sister,
in the parlor, when Kate, in obedience to
Mrs. Barnes' directions, entered to put some
wood on the fire. She did not look up until
she had disposed of the fuel, when she
turned to listen to Mrs. Acton, who wished
to give her some directions.

For the first time her eye fell on the
young clergyman, and with a shriek, turning
as pale as death, she sank fainting to the
floor.

`What is the meaning of this?' asked
Mrs. Acton, alarmed. `Edith, call Mrs.
Barnes—the poor girl has fainted!'

She lifted Kate in her arms, and applied
to her lips and brow the contents of a small
vial, which revived her immediately.

`Where is — oh, God!—' murmured
Kate, incoherently, opening her eyes in
alarm.

They rested on the young clergyman, and
she closed them again, shuddering.

`What can be the matter?' asked he, betraying
no emotion save that of curiosity.

`Did she ever see you before?' asked
Mrs. Acton.

`Not to my knowledge,' replied the clergyman,
coolly; `I have not the least recollection
of having seen her anywhere.'

`It was at sight of you she fainted,' said
Edith—`at least, it appeared so to me.'

`Ask her if she ever saw me before,' returned
the clergyman, self-possessed as ever.
`I am curious to know.'

Mrs. Acton put the question, but Kate

made no reply. Mrs. Barnes had now arrived,
and the girl was taken out of the
room. If she had thought Everett—the
young clergyman—knew her, and would expose
her, she was quite mistaken; for he
denied all knowledge of her, and convinced
Mrs. Acton and Edith that her fainting
could not have been caused by his presence
—or, at least, that he knew nothing of the
matter.

Kate, on being questioned afterwards,
said that her fainting was quite accidental,
she being subject to such fits on the most
trifling occasions.

Thus the incident passed off unnoticed.

But it had a strange effect on Kate. She
was agitated during the whole day, and when
night came she could not sleep.

`He here!' she said to herself. `My
God! who would have thought it?'

On the following day a young man called
at Acton Hall, and enquired for Kate.

`I have a message from her aunt,' said
the visitor; `can I see her?'

As the young man had a bundle of clothes
for Kate, Mrs. Barnes called her, and told
her a person at the hall door wished to see
her.

`Ha! my bird, cried Light Joe; `what's
the best word? How do you like your situation,
eh?'

Kate looked around to see that there was
nobody listening, then placing her arm upon
his shoulder, whispered in his ear.

`No!' exclaimed Joseph, starting and
turning pale.

`True!' whispered Kate. `I saw him
yesterday—and it was so sudden—you can't
imagine what an effect it had upon me.'

`He will not expose you to the Actons,
will he?' asked Light Joe.

`He dares not!'

`Right! he dares not! But where does
he live?'

`You can learn that easily.'

Joe's features brightened.

`This is good news,' he resumed, after a
moment's reflection. `Now is the time for
revenge! Have you reflected, Kate, that
we have him in our power? The Reverend
Mr. Everett! ha! ha!'

`Hush!' exclaimed Kate in an agitated
whisper—`there he comes!'

In effect, the Reverend Mr. Everett was
approaching the house, and Kate had discovered
him through the half-opened door.

`The devil will be to pay if he sees me!'
exclaimed Joseph, grasping the arm of the
trembling Kate. `Where can you hide me?'

A happy thought struck him, and before
Kate could reply, he dodged into the corner
and opened the hall door, which swinging
around concealed him from the view of any
person in the hall.

Kate, pale and agitated, endeavored to escape
to the kitchen, but the clergyman overtook
her before she had traversed half the
hall.

`The villain!' muttered Joe, peeping out
from his hiding place; `the damnable hypocrite!'

The preacher held Kate by the arm, and
his keen, piercing eyes were fixed with a
look of terrible meaning upon the girl's pale
features.

`Kate Munson!' he exclaimed, in a passionate
whisper; `we know each other—
but let there be an end to our acquaintance!
You know my character—it is revengeful!
Need I say more?'

Kate made no reply, but trembled, and
shrunk from his touch with a look of terror.

`Hear me!' pursued the preacher. `If
you dare even hint at what you know of me,
before the Actons—if you give me the
slightest cause to suspect that you will expose
me, you shall repent it to the last hour
of your existence!'

So saying, with a flushed cheek and flashing
eye, the clergyman pushed Kate from
him rudely, and composing his features with
great self-control, walked leisurely into the
presence of Edith Irving.

`Ha! ha!' laughed Joe, nervously darting
from his hiding place. `The Reverend
Mr. Everett, Kate,' he continued, rubbing
his hands, `is cool; devilish cool. But I'll
warm him one of these days—see if I don't!
ha! ha!'

`Go, Joe—go!' whispered the agitated
girl. `I have much to say to you—but not
now! Meet me this evening, at dusk, in
the corner of the orchard. I shall be at
liberty then. But leave me now—you must!'

The next moment the hall-door was closed,
and Light Joe was walking rapidly down
the road.