fe, 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?"

"No, Mrs. Needham, I have asked him for time to reflect."

"Oh, that is all right," in a tone of satisfaction, "and only means a
turn of the rack while you can handle the screws; of course you'll
accept him when he comes again. After all, though there are plenty of
unhappy marriages, there is no joy so delightful as reciprocal
affection. I am sure I never saw a creature so glorified by love as
Angela Bradley; she told me at Mrs. Cochrane's she had a wonderful piece
of news for me, and, when I said perhaps I knew it, she beamed all over
and squeezed my hand as she whispered, "Perhaps yo