and Catherine's quick eye turned from one to the other.

"Mr. Morton will explain, ma' am," said the wife.

"E-hem!--Catherine, my dear, I am afraid that is out of the question,"
began Mr. Morton, who, when fairly put to it, could be business-like
enough. "You see bygones are bygones, and it is no use raking them up.
But many people in the town will recollect you."

"No one will see me--no one, but you and Sidney."

"It will be sure to creep out; won't it, Mrs. Morton?"

"Quite sure. Indeed, ma'am, it is impossible. Mr. Morton is so very
respectable, and his neighbours pay so much attention to all he does;
and then, if we have an election in the autumn, you see, ma'am, he has a
great stake in the place, and is a public character."

"That's neither here nor there," said Mr. Morton. "But I say, Catherine,
can your little boy go into the other room for a moment? Margaret,
suppose you take him and make friends."

Delighted to throw on her husband the burden of explanation, which she
had originally meant to have all the importance of giving herself in her
most proper and patronising manner, Mrs. Morton twisted her fingers
into the boy's hand, and, opening the door that communicated with the
bedroom, left the brother and sister alone. And then Mr. Morton, with
more tact and delicacy than might have been expected from him, began to
soften to Catherine the hard ship of the separation he urged. He dwelt
principally on what was best for the child. Boys were so brutal in their
intercourse with each other. He had even thought it better represent
Philip to Mr. Plaskwith as a more distant relation than he was; and he
begged, by the by, that Catherine would tell Philip to take the hint.
But as for Sidney, sooner or later, he would go to a day-school--have
companions of his own age--if his birth were known, he would be exposed
to many mortifications--so much better, and so very easy, to bring him
up as the lawful, that is the legal, offspring of some distant relation.

"And," cried poor Catherine, clasping her bands, "when I am dead, is
he never to know that I was his mother?" The anguish of that question
thrilled the heart of the listener. He was affected below all the
surface that worldly thoughts and habits had laid, stratum by stratum,
over the humanities within. He threw his arms round Catherine, and
strained her to his breast:

"No, my sister--my poor sister-he shall know it when he is old enough to
understand, and to ke