ST. CATHERINE'S EVE


I

"In this matter of the railway James Mottram has proved a false friend,
a very traitor to me!" Charles Nagle's brown eyes shone with anger; he looked loweringly at his
companions, and they, a beautiful young woman and an old man dressed in
the sober garb of a Catholic ecclesiastic of that day, glanced at one
another apprehensively. All England was then sharply divided into two camps, the one composed of
those who welcomed with enthusiasm the wonderful new invention which
obliterated space, the other of those who dreaded and abhorred the
coming of the railroads. Charles Nagle got up and walked to the end of the terrace. He stared
down into the wooded combe, or ravine, below, and noted with sullen
anger the signs of stir and activity in the narrow strip of wood which
till a few weeks before had been so still, so entirely remote from
even the quiet human activities of 1835. At last he turned round, pirouetting on his heel with a quick movement,
and his good looks impressed anew each of the two who sat there with
him. Eighty years ago beauty of line and colour were allowed to tell in
masculine apparel, and this young Dorset squire delighted in fine
clothes. Though November was far advanced it was a mild day, and Charles
Nagle wore a bright blue coat, cut, as was then the fashion, to show off
the points of his elegant figure--of his slender waist and his broad
shoulders; as for the elaborately frilled waistcoat, it terminated in an
India muslin stock, wound many times round his neck. He looked a foppish
Londoner rather than what he was--an honest country gentleman who had
not journeyed to the capital for some six years, and then only to see a
great physician. "'Twas a most unneighbourly act on the part of James--he knows it well
enough, for we hardly see him now!" He addressed his words more
particularly to his wife, and he spoke more gently than before. The old priest--his name was Dorriforth--looked uneasily from his host
to his hostess. He felt that both these young people, whom he had known
from childhood, and whom he loved well, had altered during the few weeks
which had gone by since he had last seen them. Rather--he mentally
corrected himself--it was the wife, Catherine, who was changed. Charles
Nagle was much the same; poor Charles would never be other, for he
belonged to the mysterious company of those who, physically sound, are
mentally infirm, and shunned by their more fortunate fellows. But Charles Nagle's wife, the sweet young woman who for so long had been
content, nay glad, to share this pitiful exile, seemed now to have
escaped, if not in body then in mind, from the place where her sad,
monotonous duty lay. She did not at once answer her husband; but she looked at him fixedly,
her hand smoothing nervously the skirt of her pretty gown. Mrs. Nagle's dress also showed a care and research unusual in that of
the country lady of those days. This was partly no doubt owing to her
French blood--her grandparents had been _émigrés_--and to the fact that
Charles liked to see her in light colours. The gown she was now wearing
on this mild November day was a French flowered silk, the spoil of a
smuggler who pursued his profitable calling on the coast hard by. The
short, high bodice and puffed sleeves were draped with a scarf of
Buckinghamshire lace which left, as was the fashion of those days, the
wearer's lovely shoulders bare. "James Mottram," she said at last, and with a heightened colour,
"believes in progress, Charles. It is the one thing concerning which you
and your friend will never agree." "Friend?" he repeated moodily. "Friend! James Mottram has shown himself
no friend of ours. And then I had rights in this matter--am I not his
heir-at-law? I could prevent my cousin from touching a stone, or felling
a tree, at the Eype. But 'tis his indifference to my feelings that
angers me so. Why, I trusted the fellow as if he had been my brother!" "And James Mottram," said the old priest authoritatively, "has always
felt the same to you, Charles. Never forget that! In all but name you
are brothers. Were you not brought up together? Had I not the schooling
of you both as lads?" He spoke with a good deal of feeling; he had
noticed--and the fact disturbed him--that Charles Nagle spoke in the
past tense when referring to his affection for the absent man. "But surely, sir, you cannot approve that this iron monster should
invade our quiet neighbourhood?" exclaimed Charles impatiently. Mrs. Nagle looked at the priest entreatingly. Did she by any chance
suppose that he would be able to modify her husband's violent feeling? "If I am to say the truth, Charles," said Mr. Dorriforth mildly, "and
you would not have me conceal my sentiments, then I believe the time
will come when even you will be reconciled to this marvellous invention. Those who surely know declare that, thanks to these railroads, our
beloved country will soon be all cultivated as is a garden. Nay, perhaps
others of our Faith, strangers, will settle here----"

"Strangers?" repeated Charles Nagle sombrely, "I wish no strangers here. Even now there are too many strangers about." He looked round as if he
expected those strangers of whom the priest had spoken to appear
suddenly from behind the yew hedges which stretched away, enclosing
Catherine Nagle's charming garden, to the left of the plateau on which
stood the old manor-house. "Nay, nay," he repeated, returning to his grievance, "never had I
expected to find James Mottram a traitor to his order. As for the folk
about here, they're bewitched! They believe that this puffing devil will
make them all rich! I could tell them different; but, as you know, there
are reasons why I should not." The priest bent his head gravely. The Catholic gentry of those days were
not on comfortable terms with their neighbours. In spite of the fact
that legally they were now "emancipated," any malicious person could
still make life intolerable to them. The railway mania was at its
beginnings, and it would have been especially dangerous for Charles
Nagle to take, in an active sense, the unpopular side. In other parts of England, far from this Dorset countryside, railroads
had brought with them a revival of trade. It was hoped that the same
result would follow here, and a long strip of James Mottram's estate had
been selected as being peculiarly suitable for the laying down of the
iron track which was to connect the nearest town with the sea. Unfortunately the land in question consisted of a wood which formed the
boundary-line where Charles Nagle's property marched with that of his
kinsman and co-religionist, James Mottram; and Nagle had taken the
matter very ill indeed. He was now still suffering, in a physical
sense, from the effects of the violent fit of passion which the matter
had induced, and which even his wife, Catherine, had not been able to
allay....

As he started walking up and down with caged, impatient steps, she
watched him with an uneasy, anxious glance.