Kate Beaumont :: :: University of Virginia Library

Speaking with severe truthfulness, and
without regard to the proud illusions of
Hartland District, it had no claim to be
styled a mansion, except on account of its
size alone. It was a plain, widespreading
mass of wood-work, in two stories, with
plenty of veranda and more than enough
square pillars, the white paint of the building
itself rather rusty, and the green blinds
not altogether free from fractures and palsy.

Negro children, a ragged, sleek, and jolly
tribe of chattels, ran grinning to hold the
horses of Colonel Kershaw and the Honorable
Mr. Beaumont. Matthew, the Judge's
special and confidential servant, waited on
them with dignified obsequiousness into the
long, soberly furnished parlor, and received
with jesuitical calmness (covering inward
immense astonishment and suspicion) their
request to see Mr. Frank McAlister. After
delivering this message to his young master,
he added in a whisper, “Better see your
shootin'-irons is all right, sah. Them Beaumonts
you know, sah.”

“I never carry the cursed, barbarous
traps,” replied the young man, in noble
wrath, and hurried off to welcome his visitors.
He was tranquil, however, when he
entered the parlor; he had a wise, delicate
perception that it would not do to rush upon
Beaumonts with an effusion of friendship;
he must in the first place try to divine from
the demeanor of these potent seniors how
they wished to be treated. Moreover, it
was his nature, as it is that of most giants,
to be tranquil in manner. When the three
met, it was Colonel Kershaw, outranking
the others by reason of age, who spoke first.

“My name is Kershaw,” he said with
simple dignity. “This is my son-in-law,
Mr. Peyton Beaumont. We have called to
thank you for saving the life of our dear
child, Catherine Beaumont.”

“Yes!!” unexpectedly added Beaumont.
He had forgotten where he was; for the
moment he had no emotion but gratitude;
his fervent “Yes” sounded like an amen!

There was so much feeling and such undisguised
feeling in what these men said,
that Frank at once lost his Titanic serenity.

“Gentlemen, you overwhelm me,” he
burst out, wringing first one hand and then
another. “You overwhelm me with your
kindness. I can't express my obligations to
you.”

So catching was the young fellow's agitation,
that Beaumont's combustible heart
took fire, and he shook hands again, and astonished
the listening angels by saying, “God
bless you, my dear sir! God bless you!”

“I would have lost my life willingly to

save her,” pursued Frank, hailing these
friendly hearts with difficulty out of his
storm of feeling. “I never saw another
human being who seemed to me so pure and
noble.”

Kate's father was dazed with gratified
paternal affection and pride; he had not a
thought for the fact that it was a McAlister
who uttered these compliments; nor did it
even occur to him that the young man
might be simply in love with the girl.

“By heavens, I thank you,” he went on,
while the hand-shaking, that mute, eloquent
gratitude, also went on. “By heavens, sir,
I am glad I came to see you.”

Meantime he was dimly aware of, and unconsciously
delighted with, the height, size,
brilliant color, and noble expression of the
youngster.

After a little further talk, all of this
passionate, interjectional, truly meridional
nature, Frank exploded a proposition which
for the moment stunned Beaumont like the
bursting of a shell.

“But, gentlemen, I am doing you injustice,”
he said. “The head of the family alone
can properly respond to this compliment.
Will you allow me to call my father to receive
you? He would be gratified beyond
measure.”

Meet that enchanted wiggery, that elephantine
fox, that diplomatic foe till death,
that murderer of a brother, Judge McAlister!
All Peyton Beaumont's breeding, all his
consciousness that he was one of the representatives
of South Carolina gentility and
courtesy, could not restrain him from starting
backward a little, with a leonine quivering
of mustaches and bristling of eyebrows.
He wanted to refuse; he looked at Kershaw
to utter the refusal for him; and, like Hector
seeking a spear of Pallas, he looked in
vain. The old peacemaker had a sudden
illumination to the effect that now was the
time to bring about a reconciliation between
the families.

“Mr. McAlister, you will do us a great
favor,” he said in his venerable, tremulous
bass voice.

Beaumont broke out in a cold perspiration,
made a slight bow, and awaited his
fate in silence.

The Judge, sitting at that moment in his
library, already knew of these visitors, and
had decided how he would receive them,
should he be called to that business. “Feud
may as well fall to the ground, if it will,”
he had briefly reasoned. “No nonsensical
sentiment about it on my side. If we
were once friends with those tinder-heads
of Beaumonts, we might contrive to manage
them, and so always carry the district instead
of almost never carrying it. Moreover,
this girl being the probable sole heir
of Kershaw, there is a fine match there for
Frank. Finally, my excellent wife would
be immensely gratified by peace, and her
gratification is one of the many things that
I am bound to live for.” Such is a brief,
unadorned, and therefore unjust summary
of the reflections of the Judge.

But when he was actually summoned
to meet his visitors, his politic thoughts
changed to emotions. He remembered that
duel of bygone days; remembered how he
(then a young man) threw down his fatal
pistol and burst into tears; remembered
how he had mounted his horse and fled
from his lifeless victim as he would not
have fled from any living being. He trembled
at the thought of meeting in kindness
the brother of the Beaumont whose blood
was upon his soul. For a few seconds he
walked the library with such a rush of
emotions in his heart that it seemed to him
as if the seconds were years. Then he
checked himself; he rearranged his wig;
he rearranged his countenance. He was
once more the calm, dignified, gracious,
smiling Donald McAlister, such as Hartland
District had known him for twenty
years past.

And so, presently, the chiefs of the Montagues
and Capulets of South Carolina were
face to face and inclining their venerable
craniums towards each other with a stiff,
dignified courtesy, which made one think
of kings bowing with their crowns on.
There was a hesitation about going further;
the McAlister hand advanced slightly and
the Beaumont hand did not stir; it seemed
as if unavenged ghosts would not let them
exchange the grasp of friendship. But after
a moment the instinct of hand-shaking was
too much for them; they met as Southern
gentlemen are accustomed to meet; the
once hostile digits were intermingled.

To Frank the anxious lover, and to Kershaw
the philanthropic peacemaker, it was
a wondrous spectacle. A looker-on, unacquainted
with preliminary tragedies, would,
however, have seen and heard nothing remarkable.
There were two grave, dignified
gentlemen shaking hands with bowed heads
and eyes dropped to the floor. Each said, “I
hope I see you well, sir,” and each replied,
“I thank you, sir.” No regrets over the
savage past; neither reproach nor apology,
not even by the most circuitous hint; not
the faintest allusion, in short, to the family
feud. The Judge was simply all that a gracious
host in commonplace circumstances
should be. He got out his blandest smile;
with his own large plump hands he wheeled
up arm-chairs for his visitors; he rang the
bell and ordered refreshments. His mind
settled by these little offices, he said as he
seated himself, “Gentlemen, I am immensely
indebted to you for this visit. It is one of
the highest honors of my life.”

“The old, palavering fox!” thought
Beaumont; and replied aloud, “Judge, it is
an honor to us. It is a matter of duty also,”
he added. “You are aware, doubtless, of
our great obligations to your magnificent
son here.”

“I am most grateful that my son could
be of service to your superb daughter,” replied
the Judge. “From what I hear of
her I should say that no man would hesitate
to risk his life on her account.”

All of a sudden they were drifting towards
each other at a most unexpected
rate. This praising of each other's children
was a sure method of touching each other's
hard hearts. Insincerity? not a bit of it;
not on this subject. Who would n't admire
Kate? Who would n't admire Frank?
Beaumont, whose judgment was the weathercock
of his feelings, ceased saying to himself
at every breath that McAlister was a
humbugging scoundrel, and innocently marvelled
at finding in him so much of sense
and goodness and truth. The Judge, though
less easily cajoled than his visitor, was
nevertheless so gratified with this call from
his haughty old foeman, with the glimpse
of that fine possible match for Frank, and
with the vistas of desirable political combinations,
that he was well lubricated with
satisfaction The usually earnest and rather
grim eyes of the two men were presently
beaming in quite a human manner. The conversation
gradually lost its tone of ceremony
and became social. The serving of madeira
and brandy introduced the subjects, so well
known to antique South Carolina gentlemen,
of vintages, cellaring, and bottling.
In short, the Colonel and Frank aiding
zealously, there was a comfortable unimportant
talk of some twenty minutes.

This is the entire substance of that
famous call of the Hon. Peyton Beaumont
on Judge Donald McAlister, commonly
believed to be the first friendly passage
between them in their whole lives. We
shall see in due time whether it came to so
much in the millennial and matrimonial
way as was doubtless hoped for by our
gentle giant, Frank.

It was an astonishing event for the time.
Beaumont rode home in a state of wonder
over it, and filled his household with equal
amazement when he told his adventure.
Vincent, usually a prudently silent young
man, stared at his father with much such
an expression as he would have worn had
the old gentleman confessed that he had
been standing on his head. Tom wandered
out of the house in a partially unsettled
condition of mind, querying, perhaps, what
was the further use for Beaumonts in this
world, since they were no longer to fight
McAlisters. Poinsett smiled and said to
himself, “So my father has ventured among
the enchanted wiggeries, and been somewhat
deluded and humanized by them.
Well, I ought to praise him for it.” Which
he did in his roundabout, jocose, adroit
fashion.

“Yes, certainly, Poinsett,” replied the
reassured and gratified Beaumont. “The
only thing to be done, under the circumstances.
As for going any further, as for
continuing to wave olive-branches, well,
we 'll see how these fellows behave themselves.
By heavens, we 'll wait and see.”

But the great reward which the father
received for his embassy of gratitude came
from the charming little queen who had
sent him on it. It was a score of kisses; it
was a clinging of fondling arms; it was a
rubbing of a satin forehead against his bull
neck.

“Well, am I as good as grandpapa,
now?” asked Beaumont, always a little
jealous of the adored Kershaw.

“Yes,” laughed Kate. “You have done
ever so much more to please me than he
could do. I comprehend perfectly, papa,
what a sacrifice you have made for my sake.
Jumped on your pride, have n't you? The
old Beaumont pride! And the old Beaumont
pugnacity, too! O, I comprehend it
all, you dear, good papa! I am not a simpleton.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Beaumont. And
thought to himself: “What an amazingly
intelligent girl! I never saw a grown woman
with half her intelligence; by heavens,
I never did.”

“And now, what else?” he asked aloud,
growling a little bit, for she might demand
too much.

“Papa, I think that if the McAlisters
want to make friends on this, we ought to
let them.”

“Well, yes,” assented magnanimous papa.
“That is just what I was saying to Poinsett.”

He felt as if a new career of greatness
were being opened to him; as if it were
well worthy of his character and position to
let people make friends with him, if they
wanted to; as if that kind of thing might be
a fitting close to the life even of a chivalrous
Beaumont.

In a day or two, delightful to relate,
there came a call from “those fellows,”
meaning the Judge and Frank and Wallace.
They were received in due state and with
proper setting forth of refreshments by
Beaumont senior, Vincent, and Poinsett;
but the beneficent Kershaw being absent,
somewhat of the shadow of the old feud
seemed to fall upon the interview, notwithstanding
Frank's best efforts at sunshine;
and when the visitors departed it cannot be
said that the hosts had any fervent desire to
see them again.

Fortunately for the chances of the millennium,
there were women of a truly womanly
nature in both these bellicose families.
Pious and maternal Mrs. McAlister
and brother-worshipping Mary McAlister
longed for the holiness and salvation of lasting
peace. Kate Beaumont, the sweet, first
cause of all pleasantness thus far, had likewise
her admirable reasons for wishing to
see the feud buried forever. Mrs. Chester
also desired harmony, for she wanted with
all her coquettish old heart to resume communications
with her handsome Titan, and
she was the woman to go after what she
wanted with the eager scramble of a terrier
after a rat. By the way, we can hardly
insist too much upon the fancy of this well-preserved
lady for flirting with young men.
It was a passion with her; some people said
it was a monomania; some went so far as to
think that she was insane on this point.
What with her reckless imagination, her
ancient habits of coquetry, and her excessive
vanity, she had become thoroughly infatuated
with the idea of getting Frank
McAlister to dangle about her.

Accordingly, the following rose-colored
sequence of events took place. Mrs. Chester,
in her wild, impulsive way (such a mere
child, as one kindly remembers), dropped
in alone upon the McAlister ladies and
prattled gleefully for two hours, denouncing
the feud with the gayest of smiles and praying
in the sprightliest manner that there
might be no more bloodshed between the
families. Hereupon Mrs. McAlister and
her daughter made an immediate call at the
Beaumont house, and were received with
absolute festivity and pettings by the two
females who there presided. The interview
was all honest good-nature and gladness,
unmixed with suspicion or ceremoniousness.
The four ladies were in a new, spring-like
state of emotion, fit to intermingle their
hearts' tendrils and bloom into quick flowers
of friendship. Mrs. McAlister and Mary
on one side, and Kate on the other, fell in
love at first sight. Mrs. Chester remained
tender towards her Titan alone, but that of
course involved amicable results, at least for
the present. And the visit being thus joy-giving,
it was quickly returned and was
followed by others.

Thus at last we have, not only peace, but
frequent and fond communings between the
Montagues and Capulets of Hartland District.
An amazing olive-tree surely, and
more wonderful to its beholders than any
supposable amount of bloody laurels. The
orange-plant of the Indian juggler, springing
from the seed and producing fruit inside
of twenty minutes, would not have been
half so much of a marvel to Messrs. Wilkins,
Duffy, and their fellow-citizens. They were
a little wild in those days; they felt as
though the compass no longer pointed north;
as though the Gulf Stream had changed its
course. Moreover, where did Hartland
stand now, with its famous family feud gone
to Heaven, or otherwheres? The place had
lost its monument; it had begun to resemble
other middle-sized villages; there was
an awful likelihood that it would become
dull.

Our own sole but sharp regret with regard
to this reconciliation is that we have
not been able to sketch it fully in all its
stages, giving, for instance, a little of the
thankful, saintly conversation of Mrs. McAlister,
and a little more of the impish
graciosities of Mrs. Chester. But time
presses; the reconciliation had its sequences;
we must quit the eddies and
head down stream.

One result of the new order of things was
that Frank McAlister, in one of his visits to
the Beaumont house, had a tête-à-tête with
Mrs. Chester, which the lady contrived to
make very pleasant to herself. Another
result was that on a second and happier
occasion he met Kate Beaumont alone, some
favoring fairy having sent the aunt off on a
drive with Bent Armitage, and inveigled the
brothers into a hunting expedition, and put
the father to bed with the gout. It was the
first time that the two young people had
met without witnesses since the shipwreck.
Naturally they talked of their great triumph,
the reconciliation of the families.

“So we have won a victory,” said Frank.
“Or rather, you have. What wonders you
have accomplished!”

“Don't overestimate me!” Kate blushed,
remembering how much she had longed for
this victory and how hard she had struggled
for it. “Everybody has helped. I am so
grateful to your father and brother and
mother and sister for making the path of
peace so easy to us. But my father and
brothers have been amazingly good, too.
You must praise them to me a little.”

“I do,” replied Frank, fervently. “I
wish they knew how kindly I think of them.
And your grandfather, — what a wonderful
old man! what a god among men!”

“Is n't he?” said Kate, her eyes sparkling.

“He has the charm of a beautiful woman,”
declared Frank, enthusiastic about the Colonel
on his own account and enthusiastic
about him because he was the grandfather
of Kate. “You have only to see him to
worship him.”

The girl was too innocent to suspect a
compliment to herself, or to see an insidious
advance towards love-making, in this talk
about beautiful women.

“Mr. McAlister, I am glad you have
found him out” she said simply. “I wish
you would call on him. He would be delighted

to see you. He has only Major
Lawson with him.”

“What an excellent-hearted man the
Major is!” replied Frank.

“Is n't he?” said Kate, in her honest
way, really liking the friendly, amiable
Major.

There was not much sense of humor
in these two young persons. They were
straightforward, earnest souls, mainly capable
of seeing the interior goodness of other
people, and not to be diverted from such
insight by any external oddities. What
they could discern in Lawson was, not his
extravagant flatteries, his sentimentalities,
and his flutings, but his quickness of sympathy,
his warmth of friendship, and his gentle
humanity.

Well, there was a long conversation, and
it led to a promenade on the veranda, Kate's
fingers resting lightly on Frank's arm.
While they were thus pleasantly engaged,
and presenting the prettiest prophecy possible
of a walk together through life, there was
a sound of horses' feet, and Mrs. Chester and
Bent Armitage pulled up before them. It
is not possible to paint in words the glare of
suspicion, jealousy, and spite which shot
from the aunt's eyes as she caught sight of
her niece arm in arm with Frank McAlister.
The next instant she regained her self-possession
and put on a smile which might have
melted platinum. In a minute more she
was leading in the conversation, seemingly
the gayest and happiest old hoyden that
ever wore tight bootees. In another minute
she had separated the two — shall we
venture thus early to call them lovers?

An adroit creature was Mrs. Chester.
Wonderfully clever ways had she of bringing
about her foolish ends. She did not bluntly
call Frank to herself, as a duller intriguer
might have done. She beckoned Kate
aside to listen to some trifling household
matter; then she summoned Armitage to
express his opinion upon the girl's decision;
then, leaving these two together, she skipped
over to Frank, apologized for deserting him,
and trotted him away. The result, of course,
was that the young man soon found that he
had finished his call and must hasten home.

Now it was that Mrs. Chester turned upon
Kate and scolded her for receiving Mr.
McAlister alone.

“Where was your father? Gout? He
ought to have got up, if he had forty gouts.
He had no business to allow of such an
interview. We are not on sufficiently familiar
terms with that family. It is only yesterday
that we spoke to them.”

Kate looked so shocked under this attack
that she immediately secured the sympathy
of Bent Armitage, although he too had felt
a twinge at seeing her alone with McAlister.
He gave her one of his queer smiles, curling
up quizzically into his cheek, and rolled his
eyes at Mrs. Chester in a way that said,
“Never mind her.” That lady did not see
the smile, but she perceived that Kate had
received encouragement from some one, and
she turned sharply upon Armitage.

“What is your opinion?” she demanded
angrily. “You seem to have one.”

“My opinion is n't yours,” answered
Bent, in his odd, frank way.

“Oh!” gasped Mrs. Chester. She was
in a rage, but she said nothing further, for
at that moment a new idea struck her. This
Armitage, she decided with the keenness
of an old flirt, had defended Kate because
he liked her. It was well; he should have
the chit; he should take her out of the way.
From that minute Mrs. Chester elected her
niece to be the wife of Bentley Armitage.