drawing his arm around
her, and pressing her to him. "This day's good luck pays me off for many
a hard blow of fortune. They 're kind people you are going with, real
gentry, and our own blood into the bargain."

A thick heavy sob was all the answer she could make.

"To be sure you're sorry; why would n't you be sorry, leaving your own
home and going away among strangers? and 't is I am sorry to let you
go."

"Are you so, dearest papa? Are you really sorry to part with me? Would
you rather I 'd stay behind with you and Nelly?" cried she, looking up
at him with eyes swimming in tears.

"Would it, is it?" said he, eagerly, as he kissed her forehead twice;
then, suddenly checking himself, he said, in an altered voice, "but that
would be selfish, Kate, nothing else than downright selfish. Ask Nelly,
there, if that's my nature? Not that Nelly will ever give me too good
a character!" added he, bitterly. But poor Ellen neither heard the
question nor the taunt; her mind was travelling many a long mile away in
realms of dreary speculation.

"I 'm sorry to interrupt a moment like this," said Sir Stafford, "but
I believe I must take you away, Miss Dalton; our time is now of the
shortest."

One fond and long embrace the sisters took, and Kate was led away
between Sir Stafford and her father, while Nelly went through a round
of leave-takings with the others in a state of semi-consciousness that
resembled a dream. The courteous flatteries of Lady Hester fell as
powerless on her ear as the rougher good wishes of Grounsell. George
Onslow's respectful manner was as unnoticed as the flippant smartness
of Albert Jekyl's. Even Sydney's gentle attempt at consolation was heard
without heeding; and when one by one they had gone and left her alone
in that dreary room, she was not more aware of her solitude than when
they stood around her.

Couriers and waiters passed in and out to see that nothing had been
forgotten. Doors were slammed on every side, loud voices were calling,
all the turmoil of a departure was there; but she knew nothing of it.
Even when the loud cracking of the postilions' whips echoed in the
courtyard, and the quick clatter of horses' feet and heavy wheels
resounded through the arched doorway, she was still unmoved; nor did she
recover full liberty of thought till her father stood beside her, and
said, "Come, Nelly, let us go home."

Then she arose, and took his arm without a word. She would have given
her life to