d too, an'll mek a good naice to Sir
Cristhifer an' my ledy. Misthress Griffin, the maid, says as she's rether
tatchy and find-fautin' aboot her cloothes, laike. But she's yoong--she's
yoong; that'll wear off when she's got a hoosband, an' children, an'
summat else to think on. Sir Cristhifer's fain an' delaighted, I can see.
He says to me th' other mornin', says he, "Well, Bates, what do you think
of your young misthress as is to be?" An' I says, "Whay, yer honour, I
think she's as fain a lass as iver I set eyes on; an' I wish the Captain
luck in a fain family, an' your honour laife an' health to see't." Mr.
Warren says as the masther's all for forrardin' the weddin', an' it'll
very laike be afore the autumn's oot.'

As Mr. Bates ran on, Caterina felt something like a painful contraction
at her heart. 'Yes,' she said, rising, 'I dare say it will. Sir
Christopher is very anxious for it. But I must go, uncle Bates; Lady
Cheverel will be wanting me, and it is your dinner-time.'

'Nay, my dinner doon't sinnify a bit; but I moosn't kaep ye if my ledy
wants ye. Though I hevn't thanked ye half anoof for the comfiter--the
wrapraskil, as they call't. My feckins, it's a beauty. But ye look very
whaite and sadly, Miss Tiny; I doubt ye're poorly; an' this walking i'
th' wet isn't good for ye.'

'O yes, it is indeed,' said Caterina, hastening out, and taking up her
umbrella from the kitchen floor. 'I must really go now; so good-bye.'

She tripped off, calling Rupert, while the good gardener, his hands
thrust deep in his pockets, stood looking after her and shaking his head
with rather a melancholy air.

'She gets moor nesh and dillicat than iver,' he said, half to himself and
half to Hester. 'I shouldn't woonder if she fades away laike them
cyclamens as I transplanted. She puts me i' maind on 'em somehow, hangin'
on their little thin stalks, so whaite an' tinder.'

The poor little thing made her way back, no longer hungering for the cold
moist air as a counteractive of inward excitement, but with a chill at
her heart which made the outward chill only depressing. The golden
sunlight beamed through the dripping boughs like a Shechinah, or visible
divine presence, and the birds were chirping and trilling their new
autumnal songs so sweetly, it seemed as if their throats, as well as the
air, were all the clearer for the rain; but Caterina moved through all
this joy and beauty like a poor wounded leveret painfully dragging its
lit