PREPARATIONS.

The day but one after the above conversation, another summons brought Winter to the little dining-room of the Priory, the scene of so many consultations.

The Colonel welcomed him with his usual empressement, but a tremour of the hands, as he waved towards a seat, with an old-fashioned and urbane grace, which scarcely the shock of an earthquake could have made him forget, indicated some excitement; Kate's color too was heightened, and her eyes, though bright, had an anxious expression.

"You see we cannot get on without you, my dear sir," began the Colonel, "your prompt compliance with my request for an interview, is most gratifying—ah! The subject I wish to speak to you on is far from unpleasant, I want your opinion on a rather momentous question. In short, show Mr. Winter that letter, Kate."

"Ha, hum! Lady Desmond, I see. What a firm hand the woman writes."

It was hurriedly written, and short; after a few desultory remarks, apparently in reply to Kate's last letter, it concluded thus, "Of law and its probable delays, I can form no judgment, but why they should prevent your visit to me I cannot and will not understand; they are additional reasons, I think, why you should at once take up your abode with me, at least until affairs are arranged, and that low-bred knave's vile scheme is defeated; I know not, dearest Kate, how far these proceedings may affect the great tidal wave, which ebbs and flows in men's pockets. Therefore, whatever you may decide upon, and whenever you require it, I trust your dear grandfather will not refuse, to fill up the enclosed check on my banker for whatever sum he may want; it will be a gratification to his old protÉgÉe to think she can be of use to him, and if you will use it to facilitate your journey here, you will leave scarce a wish unfulfilled to yours, as ever.—G. D."

"Ha! done like a princess! a generous, headstrong woman, I'll lay my life; and now a journey or not a journey, that's the question; let me hear your opinion, Kate?"

"Oh! Mr. Winter, I have none; my only clear idea is, that this world is not such a bad, unhappy world, where we have a Lady Desmond and a Mr. Winter to leaven the whole lump. It is a most tempting offer; but you will call me perverse; I do not feel half so inclined to accept it as when—as when we were more independent of it."

"And you, Colonel Vernon?"

"I am very anxious," said the Colonel, in a hesitating manner, not usual with him, "at all events, that Kate should avail herself of such an invitation. Nurse might travel with her, I shall probably visit Dublin, look in upon you, and—"

"Pray where is the money to come from to do all this?" said Winter, bluntly.

"My dear sir, you forget we shall sell our furniture, and let this house."

"And when that is all gone you will be just where you were, except that your chief comforter will be many a league away, and Lady Desmond's gratitude immersed in that lethe in which impulsive people's noblest sentiments most frequently lose themselves."

"You wrong my cousin," cried Miss Vernon.

"In truth I feel incapable of deciding," said the Colonel. "I do not like the idea of throwing ourselves on Lady Desmond; but, Winter, you cannot comprehend the horror with which I contemplate my Kate's teaching—walking out alone, meeting insolence—Great God!"

He covered his face with his hands, and Kate, half appalled by the dismal picture he had drawn, clasped hers together with an appealing look to Winter, who said, huskily and oracularly,

"Hear me, Colonel. I can easily comprehend your feelings, though I am a plebeian; but I tell you there is another side of the picture. At present you are in perfect sympathy with your cousin, and the electricity of mutual obligation and kindness runs freely back and forward between you; but when you have been for six months her inmate, feeling yourself dependent on her bounty for the bread you eat; when a wish for variety may tempt her to covet the rooms you occupy for some more amusing guest, less weighed down by care; and when the freshness and excitement of a generous act, shall have ceased to interest; a thousand mortifying slights, a thousand unimportant trifles, will make your life wretched, and wear away the links that now seem to bind you so close together."

"Oh, no, no, Georgy could never act unkindly," cried Kate.

"My dear young lady," resumed Winter, "there are few in this curious world of ours that cannot, once or twice in their lives, do a kind and a generous action; but there is not one in a thousand, or a hundred thousand, that can act with uniform kindness, courtesy and justice to a dependent, a creature in their power—power! it is the forcing house of evil! The woman who could quarrel with you because you would not be happy her way, is not one of these exceptions; she would wound you one day, and beg your forgiveness, in abject terms, the next; and you, doubly sensitive from feeling the impossibility of freedom, would live in a state of slavery! Pah! never shut yourselves out from the chance of earning independence here, for such a prospect, however riant, the aspect at present."

"Ha!" said Colonel Vernon, walking up and down. "There is a great deal of truth in what you say, but Lady Desmond is a woman of warm and generous feeling, and Kate, at least, would be safe with her, so—"

"You know, grandpapa, I will never leave you—it is useless and cruel to talk about it!"

"It is both, my dear Colonel," urged Winter, "Kate would be wretched without you; nor do I think this a fitting time for you to separate; and, be warned by me, live on a crust and cold water, if you can earn no more, rather than doom yourselves to a life of dependence."

"Dear Mr. Winter, you are right," said Kate, earnestly, "my own grandpapa, let us make up our minds, to bear all hardships, provided we are together. If I must teach, do not make my path more difficult by taking it so much to heart. We have long lived independent of any pleasures but those of our home; these we can still have; the worst pang will be to bid this kind friend farewell; but he will come and see us sometimes. And after all we may win the lawsuit and enjoy our little fortune doubly. I will write to dear Georgy, and affectionately decline her kind offer; and then let us set to work at once about what must be done—shall we, dearest and best?" kissing his hand.

"It must be so," said the Colonel, after a pause. "It must be so, and I will never fret you more, my love, by opposition to your wishes; I thought it right, at all events, to consider the advantages Lady Desmond's invitation might offer for you, though I shrink from the idea of living on any one—and to think of parting with you! ah!"

"Now you talk like a man of sense," said Winter. "I will tell you, what I think you ought to write; I think Lady Desmond will be affronted if you reject all her offers, and justly; so split the difference, keep that blank check, (she has sent it unconditionally) against a rainy day; tell her, though you have no want of it, at present, you may, and do not mention your intention of teaching; she would be hurt at your preferring such an alternative to residing with her; next year she may return, and find you happy, comfortable and independent; I trust things will wear a very different aspect from that presented by the bare announcement, 'I am going to teach.' Hum," he added, musingly. "Langley used to keep up a good connection in the musical world, and Herman, he bears an excellent character, and holds a good place; you must look up your old music-master, my dear. Then, Colonel, I have known so many people ruined before they could make the necessary changes; they get into a procrastinating habit, waiting for this to be sold, and that to be paid, before the totally new system of life can be commenced, which is so essential. Now I'll tell you what I'll do. Leave the Priory and its furniture in my hands; I'll get a tenant for it, or make the fat Rector take it off your hands. The furniture shall be disposed of by auction, and I'll advance you a hundred pounds upon it; if it sells for more, I'll remit you the difference, if for less, you can pay me when you have pitched Taaffe to the 'Inferno;' but I am quite certain it will bring more. Then you can start when you please, quietly; and when you begin to like London, direct me to sell your belongings. Hey! anything to stop the infernal chatter of Miss Araminta Cox—the Mrs. Grundy of A——. What say you, Colonel?"

"That you are a friend indeed! I will be entirely guided by your counsels; but remember, you must not wrong yourself. I must have all the auctioneer's accounts forwarded to me. I can hardly describe to you the relief your thus smoothing matters affords me."

"You give me strength and courage," said Kate.

"Hum," resumed Winter. "Langley—yes, he can engage lodgings for you where you are going. When do you think you can start?"

"Oh!" said Kate, shrinkingly, "not sooner than a fortnight or three weeks."

"A fortnight or three weeks," cried the Colonel, "impossible!"

"You are a real, earnest worker, Miss Vernon," interposed Winter. "I expected a much longer date; what will become of me when you are gone? and gone on such an errand. 'Dio buono! le sciagure e le allegrezza non vengono mai sole;' but what do you think of doing with Mrs. O'Toole?"

"Oh, she goes with us, of course," replied Kate.

"Well, you know best how much you pay her, and whether you can afford it?" returned Winter.

"But nurse is not like a servant, she is a friend, she could never live with any people but us? Oh, do not tell me, we must leave nurse!" said Miss Vernon.

"We cannot accept her services for nothing," observed the Colonel.

"I will gladly engage her as cook and house-keeper, at whatever wages you give her."

"Her wages are small," said Kate, "she would not accept higher, since we left Dungar!"

"Well, you must settle all that with her," returned Winter. "I am ready to ratify any arrangement you may make; and now write to Lady Desmond, as I suggested, Kate; ma belle et bonne enfant, you are wearied by this long, gloomy talk, and I am an old bear. I know it, Colonel; but my heart is like the coat of my prototype, rough and warm."

After some more general conversation, they separated, Winter and the Colonel, to visit some land the former wished to purchase, and about which he affected great anxiety to have the Colonel's opinion. Kate to walk in solitary meditation by the river, to try and collect her thoughts, before the dreaded explanation with nurse. Mournfully she gazed at all the well-known objects she had learned to love, in her tranquil, happy retirement; and her bright, quick, fancy painted in strong contrast the life she was henceforth to lead.

"Even if I am successful, grandpapa will be so much alone," she thought; "and what a crowded, busy, terrifying place London is! I am glad Fred Egerton is in India, I could not bear that he should meet me, perhaps, walking alone in London."

And the large tears stole down her cheeks, at the mixture of feelings this vision aroused. Turning slowly round, she approached the little landing place, intending to speak a few words to Elijah Bush; a little, rosy, curly-headed boy, was seated in the boat instead of its shaggy owner; he rose, as Kate stopped at the end of the landing.

"Where is Elijah?" she enquired.

"Please, ma'am, he's been sick these three days back."

"I am sorry to hear it; what is the matter with him?"

"Oh, ma'am, he's got the rheumatics drefful bad."

"And is there no one to mind the boat but you, my little man?"

"No, ma'am."

"You cannot row it?"

"No, ma'am; but whiles the men rows the'selves, and gives me the money."

"And have you had many passengers?"

"One yesterday, ma'am; and none at all the day."

"Then poor Elijah must be but badly off; has he any money?"

"Oh dear no, ma'am."

"Where does he live?"

"In the Piper's lane, nigh St. Winefred's Tower, ma'am."

"Will you show me the way to him?"

"Oh yes, ma'am; I often hear him speak of ye, ma'am; he'll be main glad to see ye, ma'am."

"What is your name, my little man?"

"Willy Bush, ma'am."

"Are you Elijah's grandson?"

"No, ma'am, he's my gran-uncle."

"Well, I will just go up to the Priory, and return to you immediately; and then you shall show me the way to him."

Called away from the contemplation of her own trials, Kate, feeling her usual elasticity return, ran lightly up the steep path, and called nurse, to arm herself with broth and flannel for the invalid.

"Is it Piper's lane? Now, Miss Kate, I cannot let you go to sich a place. Set up the old Methody, to have Miss Vernon nurse and tending iv him—I can take the tay and the broth, and them flannels just as well."

"But, nurse, he would like to see me."

"I'll go bail he would."

"And I would like to see him; besides, I want to talk to you, dear nurse."

"Faix, it's a wax modial I am in yer hands, ye turn an' twist me what way ye will; but to think iv yer takin' the illigant mutton broth I was cooking for the masther's own self, bangs Banaher."

"There will be quite enough left for us," laughed Kate; "and I am afraid the poor man wants it much more than we do."

"It's not the likes iv me 'ud begrudge him a taste iv broth," said nurse, tying a capacious tin-can up very carefully. "Now are yes ready, avourneen. It's yerself has the heart for the poor! an' the Lord 'ill remimber it to you in the hour of need, amin."

The little boy guided them through many narrow, winding ways, to a wretched habitation outside the walls, and almost under the half-ruined tower of St. Winefred. It was a miraculous place, for although all the pools seemed to be, at least partly, composed of soap suds, nothing looked as if it had ever been washed.

Here, in a tolerably clean room, at least by comparison, they found Elijah, looking more shaggy than ever, stretched on some straw, and covered with a tattered pea-jacket. After a little kindly talk and friendly enquiries as to the old man's resources, which proved to be indeed scanty, Kate left him, telling the small boy to call at the Priory, in half an hour, when she said she would give him a note to the doctor.

"So good bye, Elijah, I hope you will be better to-morrow; in the mean time take this, till you are able to earn some more yourself."

"I'm a poor hand at returning thanks, Miss Vernon," said Elijah, with evident feeling, "but," he added, solemnly, "The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble, the name of the God of Jacob defend thee!"

"Amen," said Kate, fervently, bending her head to the benediction.

Mrs. O'Toole, pausing in her occupation of transferring the broth to an earthen vessel, crossed herself, and the next moment they left the place silently.

"He's a mighty quare man," said Mrs. O'Toole, meditatively, after they had almost reached the river side, without breaking a pause of unusual duration. "Faith, he blessed ye like a clargy."

"And well he might, he little knows how soon his kindly wishes may be required."

"Why, avourneen?"

"Nurse," said Kate, after a minute of troubled thought, "we must leave this place."

"Is it to go sthreelin' over thim furrin' parts, among dirt and flays, an' the Lord knows what?"

"No, nurse, nothing half so agreeable."

"Ah! thin, what is it, agrah? spake out to your poor ould nurse."

"Ah, dear nurse, there are sad times coming; poor, dear grandpapa, through some terrible law business, has no money left, none at all!"

"Miss Kate, is it the truth yer afther tellin' me?"

"Too, too true! I cannot explain, indeed I cannot understand, but there is a Mr. Taaffe, who says grandpapa owes him a great deal of money, which was really paid long ago; but which, as we have lost some papers, we cannot prove, and he has got Knockdrum, and we—we have nothing!"

"Oh, blessed queen of heaven! that iver I should live to see the day; not even the next gale?"

Kate shook her head, and Mrs. O'Toole, placing the can beside her, sat down on a log of timber by the river, as if unable to support herself under such intelligence.

"An' you so tinderly rared, an' the masther! Ah! sweet Mary, what'ill become iv us at all, at all? Taaffe, sure I remimber him, the desavin' vagabone, ye wor Arthur Taaffe, wid a hard word for the poor, an' yer cap in yer hand to the quolity ye wor ruinatin'; faith, it's a miserable pity the masther let it go so asy; sure the wind iv a word to my sisther's husband's son, Denny Doolan 'ud have riz the boys on Knockdrum; an' I'd like to see the process sarver that 'ud get the tip of his toe on the lands."

"You know, nurse, that is a sort of thing happily gone by."

"More's the pity if it is; how are yez to deal with thaves an' ruffins, if it is'nt with the sthrong hand?"

There was a pause, during which, nurse, her hands clasped and embracing her knees, rocked herself to and fro, and Kate, leaning against an old thorn, (now bursting into primeval youth and beauty,) gazed sadly down upon her.

"Six an' four is ten, an' four is fourteen," now burst out Mrs. O'Toole, abruptly. "Ye see, Miss Kate, me daughther is doin' well in Ameriky, wid her husband; an' Denis in the hoigth iv grandure wid the Captin in Ingee, an' I, aitin' an' dhrinkin' iv the best iv vittles, an' doin' just what I like in the Curnel's house, wid shawls, an' gowns, an' lace caps, guve me by the thrunkful; faith, me wages is just so much dhross; I'd as lieve light the candles with the notes; so, Miss Kate, avick! if the Masther ud keep the money for me till betther times, I'd be greatly behoulden to him, he'd save me from bein' chated; any ways it's a murtherin' shame to have it lyin' there useless."

"Nurse, my own, dear nurse," said Kate, clasping her arms round her, "where is there so true a heart as yours? No, no, this will not do." Then, (as nurse reddened a little,) "should we want it you shall be the first I apply to; but we shall have a hundred pounds to go on with; and Lady Desmond has offered us all we want; and besides, (approaching the last dreaded communication, with a desperate attempt at gaiety) besides, I am going to earn quite a fortune."

"Airn a fortune, Miss Kate! ah, how, jewel?"

"I am, you know, a good musician, and in London there is money to be got for teaching music, and—"

"Miss Vernon, is it a tacher ye'd be afther makin' iv yerself? You that was born iv as ould a stock as any in all Ireland, ay oulder. Och! what's come to ye at all, at all, you that used to be like a princess wid yer aiquals, an' a angel wid yer infariors? I niver thought I'd live to see the day I could say, I'm ashamed iv ye! ochone! ochone!"

"Nor will you, if you will think for a moment," said Kate, affectionately taking Mrs. O'Toole's hand between both her own. "Listen to me: suppose I had been born your own daughter, instead of your having adopted me, would you think me mean if I worked for the support of my grandfather, or, would you approve of my leaving him and myself to live on what we could get from the charity of others? No, I thought not. Will the good and gracious God regard me with less favour, for endeavouring to submit and bow before the sentence He has, in His wisdom, pronounced on our first parents? 'In the sweat of thy brow shall thou eat thy bread.'"

"No, ochone no, alanah!" sobbed nurse, "sure I'm the unfortunate ould woman to live to this day—to see mee beautiful child, that shu'd have married to a prence, tachin' thim thaves iv English the piania—an the masther! what 'ill become iv him? The Lord look down on him! Sweet Jesus pity us!"

"Now, nurse," resumed Kate, tremulously, "I know how you could do me a service—I will tell you, how you may be my support; I shall have enough to do with grandpapa—help me to cheer him—make light of our troubles to him; and—" clasping her hand, "Oh, dear! old friend, do not scare away the courage so necessary to me—by these sad lamentations. There is one thing more I must say to you; we have no right to induce you to come along with us in ignorance, and, God knows, if we shall be able to pay you, even the small wages you so generously insisted on, when we left Dungar. Mr. Winter offers you higher terms, and a comfortable home, and—"

"Och! what have I done, that ye should think I'm not desarvin' iv being wid yez, in throuble? Is id at this time of day ye want to be tould that I'd lave thousands to beg through the world wid yez—lave ye! och, where would I go? Sure yez the whole world to ould nurse! Lave ye, an ye in throuble. Oh! what have I done that ye would spake that way to me?" And covering her face in the folds of her cloak—poor nurse sobbed aloud!

"Hear me, my own dear, earliest friend," cried Kate, kneeling beside her, and endeavouring to take her hand, "I have said this, simply, because I was told to do so—I never dreamt—I never could dream of parting from you, and that subject is at rest between us for ever—come what may, we will be together. Do you hear me? Put your arms round me, and say you forgive your own Kate."

And nurse folded her to her heart fervently, exclaiming—

"The blessin' iv Christ on ye, avourneen!"

There was a pause for some moments—broken at length by the sound of footsteps, seldom heard in that unfrequented spot.

"We must go home now," said Kate, wiping away her tears. Nurse, still silent, rose, and lifted her can.

"An where is it yer going to tache? that iver I should say the word!" she asked with a fresh burst of grief. "In London—in London, musha, but it's a big place, and sure the house o' Lords is there, an I'll go bail the masther—'ill meet many a one that heard tell iv D'Arcy Vernon in Dungar—who knows Miss Kate; but some iv thim 'ill spake to the Queen, to make him a jidge or a gineral, or the like, any ways; it's sich a tunderin' big place, that ye might be tachin' in one corner, and livin' like a prencess in another, an no one a bit the wiser; sure, yer right hand wouldn't know what the lift was doin', in a big place like that."

"Very true, nurse, I dare say no one will know what I am about."

"The Lord send!" said Mrs. O'Toole, heartily, as the fact of Kate's teaching for money began to lose half its horrors in the fancied possibility of concealing the inglorious occupation.

"Now, nurse," said Kate, pausing at the gate of their little domain, "remember our agreement, you must not make bad worse to grandpapa."

"Niver you fear, darlint, I'd bite the tongue out iv me head, afore I'd spake the word, that id vex yer; only dont send me from ye, mavourneen."

True to her word, when the Colonel, after dinner—in consequence of Kate's having intimated that nurse knew how affairs stood—said—

"Bad times, Nelly—bad times—worse than I ever thought I should live to see."

She replied cheerfully, and steadily—

"Thrue, for ye, sir; but there's good luck afore yez, for all that—an' Miss Kate an meself's goin' to be as bould as lions, so we are faith, I'll see yez give the go-bye to thim thavin' attornies, yet."

Swiftly sped the interval that remained before they left their peaceful dwelling; numerous were the arrangements to be made before the final move, and the selections of those peculiarly sacred treasures, that could not be left behind, the number of which was daily swelled. Winter took charge of the Colonel's picture, but, "John Anderson," was packed for removal—music and drawings—a pet vase or two—her books, and some cushions for the Colonel, was all that Kate could take with her of her pleasant, pretty home; but the sofa and prie dieu, at which she had so diligently worked, to give an air of greater elegance to their little drawing-room—the arm chair, so associated in her mind's eye with the noble, venerable form of her grandfather—the flower garden, now bursting into radiant beauty, and which Fred Egerton used so much to admire, even in its autumn garb—all these must pass away into strange hands; she must not only leave her ark, but ever think of it as desecrated! And, Elijah Bush, too, he must be left; and the navigator's little orphan; and the keeper's sickly boy—all her poor people—the various objects to which her full, rich sympathies so freely flowed.

Yes; many a link that bound her, closely and pleasantly, to her calm and quiet life, in their ecclesiastical retreat, she was compelled to break; and still through all the saddening occupations which preceded their dreaded journey, Kate endeavoured to keep her mind fixed upon the future she had laid down for herself, with a steadiness which, exhibited in some more high sounding and attractive cause than the mere common-place duty of earning bread for her parent, would have drawn forth odes and laudations from many a potent pen.

Nurse's conduct was beyond all praise; not even when alone with Kate, did she indulge in anything beyond a passing condemnation of attorneys, generally; and good little Mrs. Winter, only half enlightened as to the real motives of her friends' departure, was invulnerable to the prying of Miss Araminta Cox.

Matters stood thus and time had run by, to within a week of the removal to London, when Gilpin, now very weak, interrupted Kate's practice one morning.

"My dear Mr. Gilpin," said she, rising to receive him, with some surprise, "this is most imprudent!"

"I could not let you go without paying one more visit to the Priory." His cough interrupted him.

"But we should have called on you, I intended doing so with grandpapa; indeed you were wrong to venture out, but, as you are here, how glad I am to see you, and the day is so fine."

"When do you start?" he asked, feebly; sinking back exhausted into an arm chair Kate had drawn forward.

"Ah, do not talk of that; Tuesday or Wednesday. Now the time draws near I feel my heart sink at the idea of leaving all we are accustomed to, to cast ourselves like ship-wrecked mariners on the great troubled ocean of London."

"And I have almost prayed that you might remain a little longer; but it is not to be so. I have crawled out to-day, my dear Miss Vernon, for I knew I should find you alone, and I wanted to speak a few quiet words with you. I almost feared to meet you after this sad change in all our hopes for you; I have so deplored it, that, judging by myself, I dreaded its effects on you, but your face re-assures me, there is no grief, scarce a grave look there. I have so much wished to speak with you."

"And I with you, dear Mr. Gilpin, I feel it is so long since I saw you."

"But let us speak at once of all that has occurred, I shall soon be so weary. How is it that there is none of the languor of sorrow, the fever of anxiety in your face?"

"Because I feel neither—do you know, I am half surprised to find how the first feeling of dread at the idea of earning money, has worn away by steadfastly looking at it. It reminds me of those double pictures which appear wintry when you first look at them, but, hold them to the light, and the deeper, richer colors of summer, painted beneath, shine forth! Then, dear grandpapa has borne up so wonderfully, and poor nurse has been so manageable, and you and Mr. Winter so—so kind, that I should be an ungrateful coward to let myself feel sad, except," she added, as the tears sprang to her eyes, "at the thought of parting from you all."

Gilpin was silent, for a few moments, and then said,

"My dear young lady, forgive me, for not knowing your noble nature better! I ought to have been certain you would be above the common grief that mourns the possibility of losing caste, as the worst of earthly woes; my chief anxiety to see you, and to see you alone, was to hear fully, from your own lips, all the plans of which I do not like to question the Colonel too closely, and to offer you a few hints, which, (excuse me if I presume too far) may be useful to you."

"Our plans are simple enough. To remove to London, where, through the interest of my old music master and one or two friends, to whom Mr. Winter offers me introductions, I hope to obtain pupils in music, who will pay me for instruction, that is all."

"If you will allow me I will add one, to an old master of mine. And these are all the introductions you will take with you?"

"Yes, all. Mr. Winter mentioned the bishop's wife as likely to be of use; but, to say the truth, I shrunk from the idea of asking her; I do not like to have the matter talked over at the little clerical tea-parties of A——. So much for my high-mindedness."

"Very natural, and a few good professional introductions are worth scores of mere recommendations to fashionable ladies, who consider they fulfil their promise if they mention your name to any acquaintance who may happen to make enquiries for an instructress. Now if Herman, (I think he was your master,) will really back you up, and give you his junior pupils, you may be very successful. I am afraid my recommendation will not prove very effectual, but try it."

"And, Mr. Gilpin, what should you—that is have you any idea what I ought to ask for my services?"

"You must learn all that from Herman, or Winter's friends; as to the terms on which you and your pupils' families will meet, accept some hints, which experience enables me to give; God knows you will teach under very different circumstances from what I did. Novels and magazines teem with the most revolting instances of the slights shown to lady teachers. In my opinion all this may be very much, if not altogether avoided, except by the resident governess; occasional teachers have only to observe this rule; treat those with whom you come in contact, professionally, as men of business do those whom they encounter on 'Change, or in their offices; once a lesson is given, the relations between pupil and teacher are at an end, and you have no more to say to each other; for this purpose resist any advance towards intimacy, which may—which will be sure to be made to you. Am I speaking too freely, Miss Vernon, in thus placing the reality of your future before you?"

"No," said Kate, firmly, and holding out her hand to him. "No, I feel the need of such suggestions, and I like to talk of what must be; it is good for me, and there is no use in making grandpapa think of it at all more than necessary; I hope to manage so as often to cheat him into forgetfulness of my occupation; only I do trust Mr. Winter's friend may not engage apartments for us in a wretched, narrow street. Lady Desmond used to live in Berkeley street, and it was reckoned a good situation, I thought it horrible."

"You might try the Kensington or Bayswater side."

"Any trees or flowers to be seen there?"

"Oh, yes, plenty."

"Then I will beg of Mr. Winter to suggest that locale."

"Mrs. O'Toole of course goes with you?"

"Of course. Dear nurse, she is so true and self-forgetful!"

"And Cormac, what will you do with him? You can hardly take that huge animal with you."

"Not just yet; he remains with the Winters; but will follow us when we can arrange to have him. Mr. Winter said no one would take us in, at first, with so formidable a looking companion."

"I should fear not, but—"

The entrance of the Colonel here cut short their private conference; he, like his granddaughter, expressed surprise and pleasure, not unmingled with uneasiness, at the organist's appearance, and, after some discussion, he agreed to dine with them, at a somewhat earlier hour than usual; as the softness of a June evening could not possibly, they all agreed, be more injurious than the morning air.

"And let us send for Winter and his wife," concluded the Colonel.

Once more the little circle met round the hospitable board in the Priory dining-room, and though the absence of many familiar ornaments, already packed, gave a look of barrenness to the pretty sitting room, and bespoke the approaching departure, the party was not a sad one; each tried to cheer the others, and in so doing roused himself.

So ended the last dinner at the Priory, and never again did the same party meet under the same roof.

Some such presentiment touched Kate's heart, and gave a tenderness to her attentions, an under current of feeling even to the fanciful sallies and playful arguments with which she strove to enliven her guests, which, gracefully as she ever played the part of hostess, lent an inexpressible charm to all she uttered; and even Mrs. Winter, usually unobservant, seemed impressed by the peculiar sweetness of her voice and manner; and often, in after life, did Kate look back to that last evening as singularly agreeable, despite the approaching separation.

The last! Oh, how much of tenderness clings round that word—the last word or look, the last even of suffering, what a grasp, they take of the memory; as though the soul, in itself immortal, cannot familiarise its faculties with any thing so finite, so sad, so passing as the last.