after her very
expressively, and shook her head. She had a female instinct that some
mischief or other was brewing.

Mrs. Gaunt went home in a revery.

At the gate she found her husband, and asked him to take a turn in the
garden with her.

He complied; and she intended to tell him a portion, at least, of what
had occurred. She began timidly, after this fashion: "My dear, Brother
Leonard is _so_ grateful for your flowers," and then hesitated.

"I'm sure he is very welcome," said Griffith. "Why doesn't he sup with
us, and be sociable, as Father Francis used? Invite him; let him know he
will be welcome."

Mrs. Gaunt blushed; and objected. "He never calls on us."

"Well, well, every man to his taste," said Griffith, indifferently, and
proceeded to talk to her about his farm, and a sorrel mare with a white
mane and tail that he had seen, and thought it would suit her.

She humored him, and affected a great interest in all this, and had not
the courage to force the other topic on.

Next Sunday morning, after a very silent breakfast, she burst out,
almost violently, "Griffith, I shall go to the parish church with you,
and then we will dine together afterwards."

"You don't mean it, Kate," said he, delighted.

"Ay, but I do. Although you refused to go to chapel with me."

They went to church together, and Mrs. Gaunt's appearance there created
no small sensation. She was conscious of that, but hid it, and conducted
herself admirably. Her mind seemed entirely given to the service, and to
a dull sermon that followed.

But at dinner she broke out, "Well, give me your church for a sleeping
draught. You all slumbered, more or less: those that survived the
drowsy, droning prayers sank under the dry, dull, dreary discourse. You
snored, for one."

"Nay, I hope not, my dear."

"You did then, as loud as your bass fiddle."

"And you sat there and let me!" said Griffith, reproachfully.

"To be sure I did. I was too good a wife, and too good a Christian, to
wake you. Sleep is good for the body, and twaddle is not good for the
soul. I'd have slept too, if I could; but with me going to chapel, I'm
not used to sleep at that time o' day. You can't sleep, and Brother
Leonard speaking."

In the afternoon came Mrs. Gough, all in her best. Mrs. Gaunt had her
into her bedroom, and gave her the promised petticoat, and the old
Paduasoy gown; and then, as ladies will, when their hand is once in,
added first one thing, then anothe