h his horse all in a lather, to say old Mr. Charlton was took ill,
and had asked for Master Griffith. I told him to go to Dogmore Copse:
'Our Kate is a-hunting to-day,' says I; 'and your Griffith, he is sure
not to be far from her gelding's tail'; a sticks in his spurs and away a
goes. What, ha'n't you seen Jock, neither?"

"No, no," replied Miss Peyton, impatiently. "What, is there anything the
matter?"

"The matter, quo' she! Why, Jock hadn't been gone an hour when in rides
the new footman all in a lather, and brings a letter for Master Griffith
from the old gentleman's housekeeper. 'You leave the letter with me, in
case,' says I, and I sends him a-field after t' other. Here be the
letter."

He took off his cap and produced the letter.

Catharine started at the sight of it.

"Alack!" said she, "this is a heavy day. Look, Joe; sealed with black.
Poor Cousin Charlton! I doubt he is no more."

Joe shook his head expressively, and told her the butcher had come from
that part not ten minutes ago, with word that the blinds were all down
at Bolton Hall.

Poor human nature! A gleam of joy shot through Catharine's heart; this
sad news would compel Griffith to stay at home and bury his benefactor;
and that delay would give him time to reflect; and, somehow or other,
she felt sure it would end in his not going at all.

But these thoughts had no sooner passed through her than she was ashamed
of them and of herself. What! welcome that poor old man's death because
it would keep her cross-grained lover at home? Her cheeks burned with
shame; and, with a superfluous exercise of self-defence, she retired
from Old Joe, lest he should divine what was passing in her mind.

But she was so wrapt in thought that she carried the letter away with
her unconsciously.

As she passed through the hall, she heard George Neville and her father
in animated conversation. She mounted the stairs softly, and went into a
little boudoir of her own on the first floor, and sat down. The house
stood high, and there was a very expansive and beautiful view of the
country from this window. She sat down by it and drooped, and looked
wistfully through the window, and thought of the past, and fell into a
sad reverie. Pity began to soften her pride and anger, and presently two
gentle tears dimmed her glorious eyes a moment, then stole down her
delicate cheeks.

While she sat thus lost in the past, jovial voices and creaking boots
broke suddenly upon her