t; she would die alone,--alone!

CHAPTER VIII.

"Constance. When I shall meet him in the court of heaven, I shall
not know him."--King John.

One evening, the shop closed and the business done, Mr. Roger Morton
and his family sat in that snug and comfortable retreat which generally
backs the warerooms of an English tradesman. Happy often, and indeed
happy, is that little sanctuary, near to, and yet remote from, the
toil and care of the busy mart from which its homely ease and peaceful
security are drawn. Glance down those rows of silenced shops in a town
at night, and picture the glad and quiet groups gathered within, over
that nightly and social meal which custom has banished from the more
indolent tribes who neither toil nor spin. Placed between the two
extremes of life, the tradesman, who ventures not beyond his means,
and sees clear books and sure gains, with enough of occupation to give
healthful excitement, enough of fortune to greet each new-born child
without a sigh, might be envied alike by those above and those below his
state--if the restless heart of men ever envied Content!

"And so the little boy is not to come?" said Mrs. Morton as she crossed
her knife and fork, and pushed away her plate, in token that she had
done supper.

"I don't know.--Children, go to bed; there--there--that will do. Good
night!--Catherine does not say either yes or no. She wants time to
consider."

"It was a very handsome offer on our part; some folks never know when
they are well off."

"That is very true, my dear, and you are a very sensible person. Kate
herself might have been an honest woman, and, what is more, a very
rich woman, by this time. She might have married Spencer, the young
brewer--an excellent man, and well to do!"

"Spencer! I don't remember him."

"No: after she went off, he retired from business, and left the place.
I don't know what's become of him. He was mightily taken with her, to be
sure. She was uncommonly handsome, my sister Catherine."

"Handsome is as handsome does, Mr. Morton," said the wife, who was very
much marked with the small-pox. "We all have our temptations and trials;
this is a vale of tears, and without grace we are whited sepulchers."

Mr. Morton mixed his brandy and water, and moved his chair into its
customary corner.

"You saw your brother's letter," said he, after a pause; "he gives young
Philip a very good character."

"The human heart is very deceitful," repl