ing and negotiations
would be fatal to me. If you won't apply to Alice, I must. I want you
to tell me whether you will oblige me in this matter."

Kate was still hesitating as to her answer, when there came a knock
at the door, and a little crumpled note was brought up to her. A boy
had just come with it across the fell from Vavasor Hall, and Kate, as
soon as she saw her name on the outside, knew that it was from her
grandfather. It was as follows:--

"If George wishes to come to the Hall, let him come. If
he chooses to tell me that he regrets his conduct to me,
I will see him."

"What is it?" said George. Then Kate put the note into her brother's
hand.

"I'll do nothing of the kind," he said. "What good should I get by
going to the old man's house?"

"Every good," said Kate. "If you don't go now you never can do so."

"Never till it's my own," said George.

"If you show him that you are determined to be at variance with him,
it never will be your own;--unless, indeed, it should some day come
to you as part of Alice's fortune. Think of it, George; you would not
like to receive everything from her."

He walked about the room, muttering maledictions between his teeth
and balancing, as best he was able at such a moment, his pride
against his profit. "You haven't answered my question," said he. "If
I go to the Hall, will you write to Alice?"

"No, George; I cannot write to Alice asking her for the money."

"You won't?"

"I could not bring myself to do it."

"Then, Kate, you and my grandfather may work together for the future.
You may get him to leave you the place if you have skill enough."

"That is as undeserved a reproach as any woman ever encountered,"
said Kate, standing her ground boldly before him. "If you have either
heart or conscience, you will feel that it is so."

"I'm not much troubled with either one or the other, I fancy. Things
are being brought to such a pass with me that I am better without
them."

"Will you take my money, George; just for the present?"

"No. I haven't much conscience; but I have a little left."

"Will you let me write to Mrs Greenow?"

"I have not the slightest objection; but it will be of no use
whatsoever."

"I will do so, at any rate. And now will you come to the Hall?"

"To beg that old fool's pardon? No; I won't. In the mood I am in at
present, I couldn't do it. I should only anger him worse than ever.
Tell him that I've business which calls me