“The day after to-morrow? that is but a short space to decide so momentous a question.”

“If you can’t make up your mind in twenty-four hours, neither can you in two hundred and forty.  I don’t want to hurry you, but you must have some consideration for me; imagine my state of mind.  Why, I’ll be on the rack till we meet again.  I fancy a conscientious woman is about the cruellest creature that walks!  However, I’ll stick to my promise:  I will not intrude on you till the day after to-morrow.  Then I will come at eleven o’clock for your answer; and, Katherine, my love, my life, it must be ‘yes.’”

He took and kissed her hand more than once, then he went swiftly away.

The hours which succeeded were painfully agitated.  Katherine felt that De Burgh had every right to consider himself virtually accepted.  She liked him—­yes, certainly she liked him, and might have loved him, but for her irresistible, unreasonable, unmaidenly attachment to Errington.  If she made up her mind to marry him, that would fill her heart and relieve it from the dull aching which had strained it so long; once a wife, she would never give a thought save to her own husband, but, before she reached the profound and death-like peace of such a position, she must tell her story to De Burgh—­and how would he take it?  With all his ruggedness, he had a keen and delicate sense of honor; still she felt his passion for her would overcome all obstacles for the time, but how would it be afterwards, when they had settled down to the routine of every-day life?  It would be a tremendous experiment, but she could not let him enter on that close union in ignorance of the blot on her scutcheon, and then the door would be closed on the earlier half of her life, which had been so bitter-sweet.  How little peace she had known since her mother’s death! how heavenly sweet her life had been when she knew no deeper care than to shield that dear mother from anxiety and trouble! and now there was no one belonging to her on whose wisdom and strength she had a right to rely.  Perhaps, after all, it might be better to accept De Burgh, and end her uncertainties.  Though by no means given to weeping, Katherine could not recover composure until after the relief of a copious flood of tears.

“Well, dear!” cried Mrs. Needham, when they were left together after dinner, “I am just bursting with curiosity.  What news have you for me? and what have you been doing with yourself?  You look ghastly, and I positively believe you have been crying.  What have you done?  I can’t believe that you have refused Lord de Burgh—­you couldn’t be such a madwoman!  Why you might lead——­”

“How do you know he gave me an opportunity?” interrupted Katherine, with a faint smile.

“Don’t talk like that, dear!” said Mrs. Needham, severely.  “What would bring Lord de Burgh here day after day but trying to win you?  I have been waiting for what I knew was inevitable; now, Katherine, tell me, have you rejected him?”