High Street with her father and mother; it was thought that the worry and
fatigue would be too much for her, and it was settled, as the weather was
wonderfully warm, and bright for the time of year, that she should go
over to Chapel Farm for a week. At the end of the week she would find
the furniture all in its place and her room quite straight.

Mrs. Bellamy called for her, and she reached the farm in safety, and
looking better. The next morning she begged to be taken for a drive. Mr.
Bellamy had to go over to Thingleby, and she was able to go with him. It
a lovely sunny day, one of those days which we sometimes have in May,
summer days in advance of the main body, and more beautiful, perhaps,
than any that follow, because they are days of anticipation and hope, our
delight in the full midsummer being sobered by the thought of approaching
autumn and winter. When they reached the bridge Mr. Bellamy remembered
that he had forgotten his cheque-book and his money, and it was of no use
to go to Thingleby without them.

"Botheration! I must go back, my dear."

"Leave me here, Mr. Bellamy; you won't be long. Let me get out, though,
and just turn the mare aside off the road on to the grass against the
gate; she will be quite quiet."

"Had you not better sit still? I shall be back in a quarter of an hour."

"If you do not mind, dear Mr. Bellamy, I should so like to stand on the
bridge. I cannot let the gig stay there."

"Well, my dear, you shall have your own way. You know," he said,
laughing, "I've long ago given up asking why my Catharine wants anything
whatsomever. If she wishes it that's enough for me."

Catharine dismounted, and Mr. Bellamy walked back.

She went to the parapet and once more looked up the stream. Once more,
as on a memorable day in August, the sun was upon the water. Then the
heat was intense, and the heavy cumulus clouds were charged with thunder
and lightning. Now the sun shone with nothing more than warmth, and
though the clouds, the same clouds, hung in the south-west, there was no
fire in them, nothing but soft, warm showers. She looked and looked, and
tears came into her eyes--tears of joy. Never had a day been to her what
that day was. She felt as if she lay open to all the life of spring
which was pouring up through the earth, and it swept into her as if she
were one of those bursting exultant chestnut buds, the sight of which she
loved so in April and May. Always for year