When he was first taken ill he had manifested great uneasiness at his stepmother’s presence, and when at last he became delirious he no longer concealed his feelings, and if she entered the room he would shriek “Take her away from me!  Take her away!  Chain her in the cellar—­anywhere out of my sight.”

Again he would speak of Kate, and entreat that she might come to him.  “I have nothing left but her and Margaret,” he would say; “and why does she stay away?”

Three different times had Margaret sent to her young friend, urging her to come, and still she tarried, while Margaret marveled greatly at the delay.  She did not know that the girl whom she had told to go had received different directions from Mrs. Hamilton, and that each day beneath her mother’s roof Kate Kirby wept and prayed that Walter might not die.

One night he seemed to be dying, and gathered in the room were many sympathizing friends and neighbors.  Without, ’twas pitchy dark.  The rain fell in torrents and the wind, which had increased in violence since the setting of the sun, howled mournfully about the windows, as if waiting to bear the soul company in its upward flight.  Many times had Walter attempted to speak.  At last he succeeded, and the word which fell from his lips was “Kate!”

Lenora, who had that day accidentally learned of her mother’s commands with regard to Miss Kirby, now glided noiselessly from the room, and in a moment was alone in the fearful storm, which she did not heed.  Lightly bounding over the swollen brook, she ran on until the mill-pond cottage was reached.  It was midnight, and its inmates were asleep, but they awoke at the sound of Lenora’s voice.

“Walter is dying,” said she to Kate, “and would see you once more.  Come quickly.”

Hastily dressing herself, Kate went forth with the strange girl, who spoke not a word until Walter’s room was reached.  Feebly the sick man wound his arms around Kate’s neck, exclaiming, “My own, my beautiful Kate, I knew you would come.  I am better now—­I shall live!” and as if there was indeed something life-giving in her very presence and the sound of her voice, Walter from that hour grew better:  and in three weeks’ time he, together with Margaret, left his childhood’s home, once so dear, but now darkened by the presence of her who watched their departure with joy, exulting in the thought that she was mistress of all she surveyed.

Walter, who was studying law in the city about twenty miles distant, resolved to return thither immediately, and after some consultation with his sister it was determined that both she and Kate should accompany him.  Accordingly, a few mornings after they left the homestead, there was a quiet bridal at the mill-pond cottage; after which Walter Hamilton bore away to his city home his sister and his bride, the beautiful Kate.

CHAPTER XII.

“CARRYING OUT DEAR MR. HAMILTON’S PLANS.”