n hand on her knee,
and looking wistfully into her face.

"And you see, my child, that I well know that there will come a time
when you and I must part Some man----"

"Never, father, never! I liked Mr Forde very much, but not well enough
to marry him, and part from you. And I kissed him, dad, when we said
good-bye. Do you mind much? I couldn't help it. I felt that I _must_
kiss him." (Then tears.) "I thought I had better tell you, for I feel so
horribly ashamed of myself."

"There is nothing for you to be ashamed of, child," said her father
tenderly; "Forde is a _man_, and, as I told you, he would take your
refusal like a white man and a gentleman."

"He did. And I could not help crying over it."

For some minutes they rode on in silence, then Fraser said:

"When is Aulain coming?"

"As soon as he is able to sit a horse, he said," and then her face
flushed. "I wish he would not come, father, and yet I do not like the
idea of writing to him and telling him so--especially when he is ill."

Fraser nodded. "I understand. Still I think it would be the better
course to take. I had imagined, however, Kate, that you thought more of
Aulain than you cared to admit, even to me."

"So I did; and so I do now, but I would never marry him, father, no
matter how much I cared for him."

Her father looked at her inquiringly.

"I think I am afraid of him, dad, sometimes. He is so dreadfully
jealous, and he has no right whatever to be jealous of me, for we were
never engaged. And then there is another thing that is an absolute bar
to my marrying him, though I fear I am too much of a coward to tell him
so; he is a Roman Catholic. And whenever I think of that I remember the
awful tragedy of the Wallington family."

"I think you are quite right, Kate," said the mine-owner gravely.
"Frankly, whilst I think Aulain is a fine fellow, and would make you a
good husband, I must confess that the thought of your marrying a Roman
Catholic has often filled me with uneasiness."

"Don't be afraid, dad," she said decisively. "In the first place, I am
not going to marry anyone, and shall grow into a pretty old maid; in the
second, if I was dying of love, nothing in the world would induce me to
marry a Roman Catholic. Whenever I think of poor Mr Wallington as we
saw him lying on the grass with the bullet hole through his forehead, I
shudder. I loathe the very name of Mrs Wallington, and consider her and
Father Corregio the actual murderers of