had done it, as you say, I should have done
just the same for my silkworms, and then, somehow when I do a thing on a
sudden like that, I always feel as if _I_ had not done it. I am sure I
didn't do it."

The last few words were spoken in a strangely different tone, much softer
and sweeter.

"I don't quite understand."

"I mean," said Catharine, speaking slowly, as if half surprised at what
had occurred to her, and half lost in looking at it--"I mean that I do
not a bit reflect at such times upon what I do. It is as if something or
somebody took hold of me, and, before I know where I am, the thing is
done, and yet there is no something nor somebody--at least, so far as I
can see. It is wonderful, for after all it is I who do it."

Tom looked intently at her. She seemed to be taking no notice of him and
to be talking to herself. He had never seen her in that mood before,
although he had often seen her abstracted and heedless of what was
passing. In a few moments she recovered herself, and the usual everyday
accent returned with an added hardness.

"Here we are at Chapel Farm. Mind you say nothing to father or mother;
it will only frighten them."

Mrs. Bellamy came to the gate.

"Lor' bless the child! wherever have you been!"

"Slipped into the water and left my shoes behind me, that's all"; and she
ran indoors, jumping from mat to mat, and without even so much as bidding
Tom goodbye, who rode home, not thinking much about his business, but
lost in a muddle of most contradictory presentations, a constant glimmer
of Catharine's ankles, wonderment at her accident--was it all true?--the
strange look when she disclaimed the honour of his rescue and expounded
her philosophy, and the fall between his shoulders. When he slept, his
sleep was usually dreamless, but that night he dreamed as he hardly ever
dreamed before. He perpetually saw the foot on the step, and she was
slipping into his arms continually, until he awoke with the sun.

CHAPTER V

Catharine went home, or rather to the Terrace, soon afterwards, and found
that there was no intention of removing to the High Street, although,
notwithstanding their three months' probation in the realms of
respectability, Mrs. Colston had not called, and Mrs. Furze was beginning
to despair. The separation from the chapel was nearly complete. It had
been done by degrees. On wet days Mrs. Furze went to church because it
was a little nearer, and Mr. Furze wen