An uncomfortable state of things was maintained all the year, Hall Leet and the Parsonage standing at daggers drawn.  Never once did Captain Monk appear at church.  If he by cross-luck met his daughter or her husband abroad, he struck into a good fit of swearing aloud; which perhaps relieved his mind.  The chimes had never played again; they pertained to the church, and the church was in ill-favour with the Captain.  As the end of the year approached, Church Leet wondered whether he would hold the annual banquet; but Captain Monk was not likely to forego that.  Why should he?  The invitations went out for it; and they contained an intimation that the chimes would again play.

The banquet took place, a neighbouring parson saying grace at it in the place of Tom Dancox.  While the enjoyment was progressing and Captain Monk was expressing his marvel for the tenth time as to what could have become of Speck, who had not made his appearance, a note was brought in by Rimmer—­just as he had brought in one last year.  This also was from Mrs. Carradyne.

     “Please come out to me for one moment, dear Godfrey.  I must say a
     word to you.”

Captain Monk’s first impulse on reading this was to send Rimmer back to say she might go and be hanged.  But to call him from the table was so very extreme a measure, that on second thoughts he decided to go to her.  Mrs. Carradyne was standing just outside the door, looking as white as a sheet.

“Well, this is pretty bold of you, Madam Emma,” he began angrily.  “Are you out of your senses?”

“Hush, Godfrey!  Katherine is dying.”

“What?” cried the Captain, the words confusing him.

“Katherine is dying,” repeated his sister, her teeth chattering with emotion.

In spite of Katherine’s rebellion, Godfrey Monk loved her still as the apple of his eye; and it was only his obstinate temper which had kept him from reconciliation.  His face took a hue of terror, and his voice a softer tone.

“What have you heard?”

“Her baby’s born; something has gone wrong, I suppose, and she is dying.  Sally ran up with the news, sent by Mr. Speck.  Katherine is crying out for you, saying she cannot die without your forgiveness.  Oh, Godfrey, you will go, you will surely go!” pleaded Mrs. Carradyne, breaking down with a burst of tears.  “Poor Katherine!”

Never another word spoke he.  He went out at the hall-door there and then, putting on his hat as he leaped down the steps.  It was a wretched night; not white, clear, and cold as the last New Year’s Eve had been, or mild and genial as the one before it; but damp, raw, misty.

“You think I have remained hard and defiant, father,” Katherine whispered to him, “but I have many a time asked God’s forgiveness on my bended knees; and I longed—­oh, how I longed!—­to ask yours.  What should we all do with the weight of sin that lies on us when it comes to such an hour as this, but for Jesus Christ—­for God’s wonderful mercy!”