That night was spent in festivity, in which Catherine was too ill to join.  She retired to her chamber, not to give way to unavailing grief, but to fortify her mind against the worst.  Mrs Hardman’s duties as hostess could not be neglected, and she mixed with her guests with the dignified affability of former years.  In watching her son’s proceedings, she had frequent occasion to bewail a coarseness and impetuosity of manner, which had doubtless been imbibed from his recent adventures.  His attentions to Lady Elizabeth were as incessant and warm as on a similar occasion they were cold and distant.  When the guests were retiring, he asked in a careless tone, ’By the by, mother, what has become of Catherine?’

The answer to this question implied an accusation of cruelty in the interview with Catherine.  This brought a retort from Herbert, that time was when Mrs Hardman pleaded another’s cause.  ‘True,’ replied the mother, ’but since I have known Catherine’s unmatched excellence, I have grievously repented that I ever contemplated that alliance.  Tell me, Herbert, at once, and honestly, have your feelings changed towards Catherine?’

‘When I left her she was beautiful,’ was the reply; ’now she is’——­

‘You need not finish the sentence,’ rejoined Mrs Hardman.  ’I see it all, and will urge you no further:  our household’s happiness is wrecked.’

The sorrowing lady sought Catherine’s chamber.  She took her in her arms, exclaiming, ’Catherine, we are women, but we must act like men.’  A flood of mingled tears relieved the dreadful emotions which agitated the wretched pair.  One moment’s consideration showed them the worst—­a future of hopeless despair.  Hardman’s love was, then, a mere fitful passion, lit up by Catherine’s former surpassing beauty.

Upon her face and form, with their matchless loveliness, his fancy had fed since his banishment; his imagination, rather than his heart, had kept her image constantly before him.  But when he beheld her in reality, so different from the being his memory-dreams had lingered over, his passion received a sudden check.  When he beheld her pallid cheek, there was no heart-love to tell him it was grief for him which had hollowed and blanched her beauteous face.  His lightly-based passion all but extinguished, instead of soothing the misfortune which the ravages of disease had brought upon her, gradually became colder and colder.  In two months after his return the final blow was struck, and Herbert Hardman became the husband of the Lady Elizabeth Plympton!

From the day of the nuptials, Catherine Dodbury covered her face with a thick black veil, and no mortal had ever seen her face, except her faithful domestic, to the day of her death.  She and Mrs Hardman retired to a distant part of the country, to leave the bride and bridegroom in undisturbed possession of the estate.  Mrs Hardman did not long survive her son’s marriage.  On her death, it was discovered that all the property at her disposal she had left to her son—­to be enjoyed after his death by Catherine—­who, the testatrix never doubted, when she executed the will (for which purpose she made her solitary journey to Barnstable), would, if ever he reappeared, become Herbert’s wife.