ing of the dinner-bell summoned them
indoors. Kate was there, very beautiful, Sir Ronald thought, in that
dark, rich silk, and flashing ornaments in her golden hair.

Long that night, after the rest of the household were sleeping, Kate sat
musing over the past, the present, and the future. She had dismissed
Eunice, and sat before the fire in a loose, white dressing-gown, her
lovely hair falling around her, her deep, earnest eyes fixed on the red
blaze. What should she do? Accept Sir Ronald Keith's offer, and achieve
a brilliant place in the world, or sink into insignificance in this
remote corner of the earth? It was all true what he had said: in a few
days her father would be married. Another would be mistress where she
had reigned--another, who might look upon her as an incumbrance and a
burden. She had been content to remain here while she held the first
place in her father's heart; but another held that place now, and would
hold it forever. What should she do in the long days, and months, and
years, that were to come? How should she drag through a useless and
monotonous existence in this dull place? Even now, earnestly as she
sought to do good in her mission of mercy, there were hours and hours of
wretched, unspeakable dreariness and desolation. When her work was
ended, when the fever was over, what would become of her then? That dim
vision of the cloister and veil was dim as ever in the far distance. No
ardent glow, no holy longing filled her heart at the thought, to tell
her she had found a vocation. Her life was unspeakable empty and
desolate, and must remain so forever, if she stayed here. Other thoughts
were at work, too, tempting her on. The recollection of Sir Ronald's
words about her recreant lover--the thought of his insolent and cowardly
boast stung her to the soul. Here was the way to revenge--the way to
give him the lie direct. As Sir Ronald Keith's wife, a life of splendour
and power awaited her. She thought of Glen Keith as she had seen it
once, old and storied, and gray and grand, with ivy and roses clustering
round its gray walls, and its waving trees casting inviting shadows.
Then, too, did he not deserve some return for this long, faithful,
devoted love? Other girls made marriages _de raison_ every day, and were
well content with their lot--why should she not? She could not forever
remain indifferent to his fidelity and devotion. She might learn to love
him by-and-by.

The fire waned and burned lo