it. The small Kitty was
somewhat young to begin her education, but begin it she did,
nevertheless. She was as docile and anxious to please as her mother
before her, and after days of patient training, managed to master the
intricate syllables of what the doggie says and what the pussy says. She
also learned to navigate alone the distance from a chair-leg to Kate's
knee; a fearful adventure, this, accomplished with much wild waving of
arms and not a few tears, for Kitty was not of the intrepid, determined
stuff to which Kate was accustomed in the way of infants.

However, she made a cuddlesome, drowsy armful to hold during the long
Spring twilights; and often sitting so, alone in her great hall, Kate
forgot what child it was she held, and went back to the days of her
first motherhood, dreaming that the door would presently open and admit
Jacques Benoix, come to sit for a while with his friend.

Few visitors troubled the monotony of Storm. During her illness the
neighborhood had been assiduous with broths and jellies, but now that
she was well again the old awe of the Madam returned, and it did not
occur to the modest country folk that she would have been glad of their
company. Holiday Hill was in charge of caretakers. Farwell, after months
of the role of the Southern country gentleman, had suddenly yielded to
the irresistible lure of the footlights, and was once more making his
final appearance upon any stage. Philip's substitute occasionally paid a
conscientious call, which Kate recognized, with some amusement, as a
parochial visit. He was an earnest young man, with views, and it was
evident that he regarded Mrs. Kildare's frank indifference to matters of
dogma as a serious defect in her character.

Somewhat to her surprise, one day the Bishop of the diocese came out
from Lexington to see her. She had met him before, as Philip's friend,
and even entertained him at Storm on occasion; but their acquaintance
was very slight, and she was at a loss to account for this visit.

He seemed to have come chiefly to talk about Philip. "I have been
watching young Benoix since he first left the Seminary. We have many
promising men in our clergy," he said, "many indefatigable workers, many
beautiful spirits, many fine intellects. But a combination of all these
qualities is rare in any profession. And besides these," he added
quietly, "Benoix has the right sort of wife."

Kate's steady eyes met his without flinching. Though nothing