home.

Now she had been for six weeks in London, and had been persuaded to come
on to her sister, at the end of her stay. Catherine was looking forward
to her coming with many tremors. The wild ambitious creature had been
not one atom appeased by Manchester and its opportunities. She had gone
back to Whindale in April only to fall into more hopeless discontent
than ever. 'She can hardly be civil to anybody,' Agnes wrote to
Catherine. 'The cry now is all "London" or at least "Berlin," and she
cannot imagine why papa should ever have wished to condemn us to such a
prison.'

Catherine grew pale with indignation as she read the words, and thought
of her father's short-lived joy in the old house and its few green
fields, or of the confidence which had soothed his last moments, that it
would be well there with his wife and children, far from the hubbub of
the world.

But Rose and her whims were not facts which could be put aside. They
would have to be grappled with, probably humored. As Catherine strolled
out into the garden, listening alternately for Robert and for the
carriage, she told herself that it would be a difficult visit. And the
presence of Mr. Langham would certainly not diminish its difficulty. The
mere thought of him set the wife's young form stiffening. A cold breath
seemed to blow from Edward Langham, which chilled Catherine's whole
being. Why was Robert so fond of him?

But the more Langham cut himself off from the world, the more Robert
clung to him in his wistful affectionate way. The more difficult their
intercourse became, the more determined the younger man seemed to be to
maintain it. Catherine imagined that he often scourged himself in secret
for the fact that the gratitude which had once flowed so readily had now
become a matter of reflection and resolution.

'Why should we always expect to get pleasure from our friends?' he had
said to her once with vehemence. 'It should be pleasure enough to love
them.' And she knew very well of whom he was thinking.

How late he was this afternoon. He must have been a long round. She had
news for him of great interest. The lodge-keeper from the Hall had just
looked in to tell the rector that the Squire and his widowed sister were
expected home in four days.

But, interesting as the news was, Catherine's looks as she pondered
it were certainly not looks of pleased expectation. Neither of them,
indeed, had much cause to rejoice in the Squire's advent. Since t