sunk almost to her knees. She now started up
with nostrils expanding and her blue eyes glittering. "Your hay!" she
cried, with bitter contempt; "your hay before your wife? That is how
_you_ love me!" And, the next moment, she seemed to turn from a fiery
woman to a glacier.

Griffith smiled at all this, with that lordly superiority the male
sometimes wears when he is behaving like a dull ass; and smoked his
pipe, and resolved to indulge her whim as soon as ever he had got his
hay in.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Showery weather set in, and the hay had to be turned twice, and left in
cocks instead of carried.

Griffith spoke now and then about the foreign tour; but Kate deigned no
reply whatever; and the chilled topic died out before the wet hay could
be got in: and so much for Procrastination.

Meantime, Betty Gough was sent for to mend the house-linen. She came
every other day after dinner, and sat working alone beside Mrs. Gaunt
till dark.

Caroline Ryder put her own construction on this, and tried to make
friends with Mrs. Gough, intending to pump her. But Mrs. Gough gave her
short, dry answers. Ryder then felt sure that Gough was a go-between,
and, woman-like, turned up her nose at her with marked contempt. For
why? This office of go-between was one she especially coveted for
herself under the circumstances; and, a little while ago, it had seemed
within her grasp.

One fine afternoon the hay was all carried, and Griffith came home in
good spirits to tell his wife he was ready to make the grand tour with
her.

He was met at the gate by Mrs. Gough, with a face of great concern; she
begged him to come and see the Dame; she had slipped on the oak stairs,
poor soul, and hurt her back.

Griffith tore up the stairs, and found Kate in the drawing-room, lying
on a sofa, and her doctor by her side. He came in, trembling like a
leaf, and clasped her piteously in his arms. At this she uttered a
little patient sigh of pain, and the doctor begged him to moderate
himself: there was no immediate cause of alarm; but she must be kept
quiet; she had strained her back, and her nerves were shaken by the
fall.

"O my poor Kate!" cried Griffith; and would let nobody else touch her.
She was no longer a tall girl, but a statuesque woman; yet he carried
her in his herculean arms up to her bed. She turned her head towards him
and shed a gentle tear at this proof of his love; but the next moment
she was cold again, and seemed weary of her l