to me only right to see Mrs. Morris, after what I owe to her. But of course, if I had understood, I would not have gone—and I will not go again. You know I always try to do what you wish."

Katherine stood up, with the words, and he went to open the door; courtly as usual. As she passed she gave him a slight wistful glance, and he took her hand in his own, then bent to kiss her forehead, as her own father might have done.

"I know!" he said. "You are my child!—my all!" The word came emphatically. "It startled me to think that you could go against my will. But it is all right now."

Both were by nature undemonstrative; and he dropped her hand. She gave him a gentle little smile in response, and moved on, her soft skirt sweeping the floor noiselessly. Within the drawing-room, when alone, she stood still and repeated the words half aloud—"His child! His all!"

Yes, it was true; and she knew it. She was his all; she had been his all, ever since the death, ten years earlier, of his adored wife, her adored aunt, the sweet, gentle, winsome Lady Mary, who when dying had given over her husband to Katherine's devoted care. She had most faithfully fulfilled her charge, with only the one doubt in her mind as to future days—if Hamilton should want her!

But he would not now. He would only want—Doris.

"As well, perhaps," she murmured. "How could I leave him—after what she said?"

But two great tears fell slowly.

Meanwhile the Squire went back to his seat, not to drink more wine, for he was the most abstemious of men, but to remain long motionless, lost in thought, with bent head. Gradually he saw his way, and determined what to do.

Fruit of which cogitations appeared in the morning, when his horse was brought to the door, and he said to Katherine,—"Don't wait for me. I hardly think I can be back to luncheon. I have a long round."

He proposed to see Doris, the Rector, Mrs. Brutt, and the farm people. Which first?—was the question. He decided to begin with the widow.

A touch sufficed to draw from her a flood of details. She described the farm and its belongings, animate and inanimate, with her usual wealth of adjectives, appropriate and inappropriate. Another touch—and she launched into speculation.

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