The herald., 1896-01-26

Mr.. Mowbray was the first to speak of
the subject.
annie" he said to his wife one day.
"Morpeth is staying here for the sake of
Miss Raeburn. He cares nothing about
the pheasants."
II have thought that for some time,
Thomas"
''If he wrongs her in any way would
as lief horsewhip him as not. 1t would
be the same as wEOnging a child. She
is as ignorant Of life as our little Willie.
Why don't you speak to herr"
because if l did, she would likely
impute to me the meanest and most
selfish reasons. Morpeth would teach
her to do so. His interest would lead
him that way"
but if he loves her and wins her love
he must marry her. There is no reason
against it."
"There is money against it, or rather
poverty. His estate will be sold under
the hammer il his uncle does not come
to the rescue; and he will not do that
unless Almund marries Miss Muncas-
ter"
II fear it is a bad job. You had better
send the little girl home"
"She suits me, and she suits the boys;
but will send her home at Christmas
for two weeks. She will probably tell
her father. 1t is his place to interfere"
"Morpeth is going to London with me
tomorrow. You could speak to him to-
night"
ut is none Of our business, Thomas.
And to people in love God himself could
not speak wisdom. But it is near to
Christmas, and 1 will send her to her
father"
From this visit, however, Catherine re-
ceived no strength. The struggling bare
ness and poverty of her home shocked
her in every sense. She cried pitifully
over her father in it's sordid limitations,
and was not consoled by the fact that
he had sold an historical textbook for
one hundred pounds, and been request
ed to write more of the same kind. This
had seemed a marvellous piece Of for
tune to the simple student, and he had
kept it for Christmas joy to Cathe-
rine; but the girl could not imagine
riches from such source. All her life
she had seen her father writing, and
nothing much had come of it. Yet she
was glad to make his home more COM
Portable, and delighted to know that he
was no longer dependent on the Chapel
people for his daily bread.
This visit showed her how far she
had wandered from her old self The
small, bare rooms, the plain table, the
cramped unlovely life Of her girlhood
panied and shamed her. She felt that
she could never return to it, and she
longed also to put her father far from
it's constraints and humilations. She
had talked on this subject very often
to her lover and they had made many
pleasant plans for the minister's future.
But at present she could not discuss
them; for Almund had particularly
wished her to say nothing about him,
just at this time. SO she was very Of
ten very quiet and silent, and the min
lister wondered where his joyous little
girl had gone to. When he asked her,
she said "she was thinking Of his sad
lot" and he was grateful and happy in
her consideration If she was really
thinking of her lover, her father did
not suspect it. Not by carelessness or
mistake is Love painted blind; it
is Mercy that holds his eyes, so that he
cannot see.
She returned to Otterby with a little
heartache. Nothing at home had been
quite as she expected. Her 1atner mad
become absorbed in his new work, and
had learned to bear life without her.
Her old acquaintances had been polite
ly cold. for Catherine had outgrown
their patronage, and vulgarity does not
love, unless it's favOrS can humiliate.
After all, it was pleasant to see Mrs.
Mowbray smiling and nodding well
come to her, as the train stopped at the
station; pleasant to step into the hand
some broug ham and have the footman
carefully fold the warm furs around
her; very pleasant, indeed, to find her
own parlor renovated and bright with
flowers and freight, the table delicate
I ly spread, and the boys waiting with
open arms to greet her.
In day or two, life settled back into
it's usual routine, and then the Now
brays went to London for a short sea-