d looked
prouder than ever.

"What will you do?" she asked, and her tone was breathless, despite
her efforts to make her voice have merely a casual sound.

"If Cousin Samuel dies I shall have to go to England, I suppose.
He is the well-to-do member of our family, and his death would mean
business affairs to look after," Jervis answered, as he surveyed
the scrap of paper, turning it over and over, as if to see if there
were anything on it that might have been missed.

"Is he your cousin or your father's?" she asked. "Neither; he is
my grandfather's first cousin, a hard, cruel old man, with not an
ounce of charity, nor even ordinary kind-heartedness, in his whole
composition," Jervis answered in a hard tone. "I asked his help for
my mother when she was left a widow, but he turned a deaf ear to
the plea, and left her to struggle on, to sink or swim as best she
could."

"I see," said Katherine, and now it was her voice which was
constrained. Then she asked timidly: "If you go to England, when
will you have to start?"

"That will depend upon you; for of course I am not going to England
to leave you behind, that goes without saying," he answered, in a
masterful tone that set her heart throbbing wildly, only now it was
joy, and not sorrow, that caused the emotion. "I must see what I
can do about getting a minister up here to marry us," he went on;
"then we should be ready to start directly the waters are open, if
need should arise."

"Wouldn't it be wiser to put off our wedding until you come back?
It will cost you such a fearful lot to take me too," she said,
feeling that she must take a common-sense, prudent view of the
situation, although the prospect of going with him set her nerves
tingling with delight.

"No, no, sweetheart, I am not going to leave you behind," he said,
holding her hand in a pressure that hurt her. "If I go to England
I will take my wife along with me; if that can't be managed I will
stay where I am."

Katherine laughed. "It is all very well to be so positive, but I
don't see how it is to be managed. It is one thing for me to marry
and just go over the river to live, because then I can always come
to help when I am wanted," she said, the mirth dying out of her
face, and leaving it with a troubled look; "but it is quite another
matter to marry and go straight away to England."

"Nevertheless, it may have to be done," he said; adding, with a
smile: "Don't be so conceited as to think the