From that day, Kate strove diligently to keep her self-imposed promise, and gradually time, the healer, accustomed her to think, with calm, though unutterably tender sadness, of the dear and venerated relative she had lost.
But she almost loathed the state and luxury amid which she now lived, remembering the petty privations which had depressed and mortified the last weary hours of his life. Often the erring child of earth, groping in the dim twilight of imperfect faith, would raise her heart to Heaven in silent supplication for forgiveness, at these half involuntary murmurs; it is so hard to believe that the sorrows laid upon a beloved and revered object, are not "too heavy." We all know the deep-rooted sin and error of our _own_ hearts, which lie hidden from mortal eye, how much they require chastisement and guidance, but the life that to us seems blameless, the kindly nature, to our eyes, a model for us to follow! Oh, how inscrutable seem the trials we could comprehend if directed to our own discipline.
It was with a stronger sensation of pleasure than she had known for many days, that Kate heard her cousin propose their removal from the mighty capital, now rapidly gathering together its beauty and its strength, its fashion and its political hosts.
"Is there any place you would prefer, dear Kate," she asked, one evening as they sat together, after their quickly despatched dinner, (Lady Desmond had, after much solicitation, consented to accompany an old Neapolitan acquaintance to the opera, and was now waiting for her friend's carriage.)
"No, none," replied Kate, indolently, "all I care for is to leave London; though, dearest Georgy, it is by no means insupportable to me, if you wish to stay."
"It has no attraction for me," said Lady Desmond, "Ireland would be painful to you now, and though I long to take you abroad, you will enjoy a visit to France or Germany much more a few months hence; besides, I would rather not leave England at present.
"Lady Elizabeth Macdonnell was sitting with me this morning," she resumed, after a pause, during which she played thoughtfully with the tassels of her Cashmere cloak. "You don't know her, she was related to poor Sir Thomas, and beside that, her husband was an old brother-in-arms of his. When General Macdonnell died, his widow was left almost penniless, and so they gave her apartments at Hampton Court Palace; she tells me it is a pleasant, quiet place for a month or two; pretty rides and drives near town if you want to see any one, or any thing--out of the way if you are misanthropically inclined. In short, she is very anxious to get me down there; she is in wretched health, and if it is practicable, I should like to gratify her; she was most kind to me, poor thing, in her palmy days, when I was an inexperienced bride. Would you like the locale, Kate?"