ephen, the younger were no less delighted with even
such casual glimpses as they caught of Kate, in the few moments she
could spare from her brother's bedside. As for Lady Hester, such a
torrent of sensations, such a perfect avalanche of emotion, was perfect
ecstasy; perhaps not the least agreeable feeling being the assurance
that she no longer possessed any right or title to Corrig-O'Neal, and
was literally unprovided for in the world.

"One detests things by halves," said she; "but to be utterly ruined is
quite charming."

The country visitors were not a little surprised at the unfeigned
sincerity of her enjoyment, and still more, perhaps, at the warm
cordiality of her manner towards them,--she who, till now, had declined
all proffers of acquaintanceship, and seemed determined to shun them.

Consigning to her care all the duties of receiving the crowd of
visitors, which old Count Stephen was but too happy to see, Kate only
ventured for a few minutes at a time to enter the drawing-room. It was
while hastening back from one of these brief intervals that she heard
her name spoken in a low but distinct voice. She turned round, and saw a
man, closely enveloped in a large cloak, beside her.

"It is I, Miss Dalton,--the Abbe D'Esmonde," said he. "May I speak with
your brother?"

Kate could hardly answer him from terror. All the scenes in which she
had seen him figure rose before her view, and the man was, to her eyes,
the very embodiment of peril.

"My brother is too ill, sir, to receive you," said she. "In a few days
hence--"

"It will then be too late, Miss Dalton," said he, mournfully. "The very
seconds as they pass, now, are as days to one who stands on the brink of
eternity."

"Is there anything which I could communicate to him myself? for I am
fearful of what might agitate or excite him."

"If it most be so," said he, sighing, and as if speaking to himself.
"But could you not trust me to say a few words? I will be most
cautious."

"If, then,' to-morrow--"

"To-morrow! It must be now,--at this very instant!" cried he, eagerly.
"The life of one who is unfit to go hence depends upon it." Then, taking
her hand, he continued: "I have drawn up a few lines, in shape of a
petition for mercy to this wretched man. They must be in London by
to-morrow night, to permit of a reprieve before Saturday. Your brother's
signature is all-essential. For this I wished to see him, and to know
if he has any acquaintanceship wit