‘Thank you, uncle Bates’ (Caterina kept up her childish epithets for her friends, and this was one of them); ’not quite so close to the fire, for I am warm with walking.’

‘Eh, but yer shoes are faine an’ wet, an’ ye must put up yer faet on the fender.  Rare big faet, baint ’em?—­aboot the saize of a good big spoon.  I woonder ye can mek a shift to stan’ on ’em.  Now, what’ll ye hev to warm yer insaide?—­a drop o’ hot elder wain, now?’

’No, not anything to drink, thank you; it isn’t very long since breakfast,’ said Caterina, drawing out the comforter from her deep pocket.  Pockets were capacious in those days.  ’Look here, uncle Bates, here is what I came to bring you.  I made it on purpose for you.  You must wear it this winter, and give your red one to old Brooks.’

‘Eh, Miss Tiny, this is a beauty.  An’ ye made it all wi’ yer little fingers for an old feller laike mae!  I tek it very kaind on ye, an’ I belave ye I’ll wear it, and be prood on’t too.  These sthraipes, blue an’ whaite, now, they mek it uncommon pritty.’

’Yes, that will suit your complexion, you know, better than the old scarlet one.  I know Mrs. Sharp will be more in love with you than ever when she sees you in the new one.’

‘My complexion, ye little roogue! ye’re a laughin’ at me.  But talkin’ o’ complexions, what a beautiful colour the bride as is to be has on her cheeks!  Dang my boottons! she looks faine and handsome o’ hossback—­sits as upraight as a dart, wi’ a figure like a statty!  Misthress Sharp has promised to put me behaind one o’ the doors when the ladies are comin’ doon to dinner, so as I may sae the young un i’ full dress, wi’ all her curls an’ that.  Misthress Sharp says she’s almost beautifuller nor my ledy was when she was yoong; an’ I think ye’ll noot faind man i’ the counthry as’ll coom up to that.’

‘Yes, Miss Assher is very handsome,’ said Caterina, rather faintly, feeling the sense of her own insignificance returning at this picture of the impression Miss Assher made on others.

‘Well, an’ I hope she’s good too, an’ll mek a good naice to Sir Cristhifer an’ my ledy.  Misthress Griffin, the maid, says as she’s rether tatchy and find-fautin’ aboot her cloothes, laike.  But she’s yoong—­she’s yoong; that’ll wear off when she’s got a hoosband, an’ children, an’ summat else to think on.  Sir Cristhifer’s fain an’ delaighted, I can see.  He says to me th’ other mornin’, says he, “Well, Bates, what do you think of your young misthress as is to be?” An’ I says, “Whay, yer honour, I think she’s as fain a lass as iver I set eyes on; an’ I wish the Captain luck in a fain family, an’ your honour laife an’ health to see’t.”  Mr. Warren says as the masther’s all for forrardin’ the weddin’, an’ it’ll very laike be afore the autumn’s oot.’

As Mr. Bates ran on, Caterina felt something like a painful contraction at her heart.  ‘Yes,’ she said, rising, ’I dare say it will.  Sir Christopher is very anxious for it.  But I must go, uncle Bates; Lady Cheverel will be wanting me, and it is your dinner-time.’