“Oh, indeed, Katharine was well considered!  I myself packed a trunk for her with every conceivable necessity, as well as gowns and manteaus of the finest material and the most elegant fashion.  If Dick had been permitted, he would have robbed the Province for her.  I assure you that I had to lock my trunks to preserve a change of gowns for myself.  When the colonel returns, he will satisfy you that Katherine has done tolerably well in her marriage with our nephew.  And, indeed, I must beg you to excuse me further.  I have been in a hurry of affairs and emotions for two days; and I am troubled with the vapours this morning, and feel myself very indifferently.”

Then Joris understood that he had been politely dismissed.  But there was no unkindness in the act.  He glanced at the effusive little lady, and saw that she was on the point of crying, and very likely in the first pangs of a nervous headache; and, without further words, he left her.

The interview had given Joris very little comfort.  At first, his great terror had been that Katherine had fled without any religious sanction; but no sooner was this fear dissipated, than he became conscious, in all its force, of his own personal loss and sense of grievance.  From Mrs. Gordon’s lodgings he went to those of Dominie Van Linden.  He felt sure of his personal sympathy; and he knew that the dominie would be the best person to investigate the circumstances of the marriage, and authenticate their propriety.

Then Joris went home.  On his road he met Bram, full of the first terror of his sister’s disappearance.  He told him all that was necessary, and sent him back to the store.  “And see you keep a modest face, and make no great matter of it,” he said.  “Be not troubled nor elated.  It belongs to you to be very prudent; for your sister’s good name is in your care, and this is a sorrow outsiders may not meddle with.  Also, at once go back to Joanna’s, and tell her the same thing.  I will not have Katherine made a wonder to gaping women.”

Lysbet was still a little on the defensive; but, when she saw Joris coming home, her heart turned sick with fear.  She was beating eggs for her cake-making, and she went on with the occupation; merely looking up to say, “Thee, Joris; dinner will not be ready for two hours!  Art thou sick?”

“Katherine—­she has gone!”

“Gone?  And where, then?”

“With that Englishman; in ‘The Dauntless’ they have gone.”

“Believe it not.  ‘The Dauntless’ left yesterday morning:  Katherine at seven o’clock last night was with me.”

“Ah, he must have returned for her!  Well he knew that if he did not steal her away, I had taken her from him.  Yes, and I feared him.  When I heard that ‘The Dauntless’ was to take him to the West Indies, I watched the ship.  After I kissed Katherine yesterday morning, I went straight to the pier, and waited until she was on her way.”  Then he told her all Mrs. Gordon had said, and showed her the fragments of Katherine’s letter.  The mother kissed them, and put them in her bosom; and, as she did so, she said softly, “it was a great strait, Joris.”