ime?'

'It is easy to talk so when you are not feeling,' said Caterina, the
tears flowing fast. 'It is bad to bear now, whatever may come after. But
you don't care about my misery.'

'Don't I, Tina?' said Anthony in his tenderest tones, again stealing his
arm round her waist, and drawing her towards him. Poor Tina was the slave
of this voice and touch. Grief and resentment, retrospect and foreboding,
vanished--all life before and after melted away in the bliss of that
moment, as Anthony pressed his lips to hers.

Captain Wybrow thought, 'Poor little Tina! it would make her very happy
to have me. But she is a mad little thing.'

At that moment a loud bell startled Caterina from her trance of bliss. It
was the summons to prayers in the chapel, and she hastened away, leaving
Captain Wybrow to follow slowly.

It was a pretty sight, that family assembled to worship in the little
chapel, where a couple of wax-candles threw a mild faint light on the
figures kneeling there. In the desk was Mr. Gilfil, with his face a shade
graver than usual. On his right hand, kneeling on their red velvet
cushions, were the master and mistress of the household, in their elderly
dignified beauty. On his left, the youthful grace of Anthony and
Caterina, in all the striking contrast of their colouring--he, with his
exquisite outline and rounded fairness, like an Olympian god; she, dark
and tiny, like a gypsy changeling. Then there were the domestics kneeling
on red-covered forms,--the women headed by Mrs. Bellamy, the natty little
old housekeeper, in snowy cap and apron, and Mrs. Sharp, my lady's maid,
of somewhat vinegar aspect and flaunting attire; the men by Mr. Bellamy
the butler, and Mr. Warren, Sir Christopher's venerable valet.

A few collects from the Evening Service was what Mr. Gilfil habitually
read, ending with the simple petition, 'Lighten our darkness.'

And then they all rose, the servants turning to curtsy and bow as they
went out. The family returned to the drawing-room, said good-night to
each other, and dispersed--all to speedy slumber except two. Caterina
only cried herself to sleep after the clock had struck twelve. Mr. Gilfil
lay awake still longer, thinking that very likely Caterina was crying.

Captain Wybrow, having dismissed his valet at eleven, was soon in a soft
slumber, his face looking like a fine cameo in high relief on the
slightly indented pillow.

Chapter 3

The last chapter has given the discer