a whole gallery of ghosts all
night--which means that a bad conscience would not let me sleep."

"What nonsense! Why, you are a perfect saint, Kate, in some ways; but in
others I must say you are foolish; yes, dear, I must say it--_very_
foolish."

"I dare say I am," returned Katherine; "but whether I am or not, I have
an intense headache, so you must excuse me if I am very stupid."

"I am sure you want change, Katherine. Do come back with me to town.
There is quite time enough to put up all you want before 11, and the
train goes at 11.10. There is a little dance, 'small and early' at Lady
Mary Vincent's this evening, and I know she would be delighted to see
you."

"I do not think hot rooms the best cure for a headache," observed Miss
Payne; "and till yesterday Katherine had been looking remarkably well.
She was out boating too long in the sun."

"You are very good to trouble about me, Ada. My best cure is quiet. I
will go and lie down as soon as I see you off, and I dare say shall be
myself again in the evening. I may come up to town for a day or two
before you return to Castleford, but I will let you know."

Nothing more was said on the subject then, but when Katherine returned
from the station after bidding her sister-in-law good-by, Miss Payne met
her with a strong recommendation to take some "sal volatile and water,
and to lie down at once."

"I did not, of course, second Mrs. Ormonde's suggestions--the idea of
your going for rest or health to _her_ house!--but I am really vexed to
see you look so ill. How do you feel?"

"Very well disposed to follow your good advice. If I could get some
sleep, I should be quite well." Katherine smiled pleasantly as she
spoke. She was extremely thankful to secure an hour or two of silence
and solitude.

During the night her heart, her brain, were in such a tumult she could
not think consecutively. Alone in her room, and grown calmer, she could
plan her future proceedings and screw her courage to the desperate
sticking-point of action such as her conscience dictated.

She fastened her door and set her window wide open. After gazing for
some time at the sea, golden and glittering in the noonday sun, and
inhaling the soft breeze which came in laden with briny freshness, she
lay down and closed her eyes. But though keeping profoundly still, no
restful look of sleep stole over her set face; no, she was thinking
hard, for how long she could not tell. When, however, she came