he subject, and
even now she quickly changed to another topic. Mark had never introduced
poor Mrs. Ardagh to "William Foster." And Catherine would not add
another burden to those she already had to bear.

Surrey was looking very lovely in the spring weather. The trees were
just beginning to let out the tips of their green secrets. The ground
was dashed with blue and with yellow, where bloomed those flowers that
are the sweetest of the year because they come the first, and whisper
wonderful promises in the ears of all who love them. There had been some
rain and the grass of lawns and hillsides was exquisite in the startling
freshness of its vivid colour. Nature seemed uneasy with delight, like a
child on a birthday morning. The tender beauty of everything around her
reassured Catherine, who had come from town in a mood of strange
apprehension. As she looked at the expectant woods awaiting their lovely
costume in fragile nudity, at the violets that seemed to sing in odours,
at that pale and shallow sky which is a herald of the deeper skies to
come, it seemed to her impossible that Mark, who could be so blithe, so
radiant, could turn to dark imaginings in such an atmosphere of
exquisite enterprise. She was filled with hope and with a species of
religious optimism. Some days passed, Catherine and Mark spent them in a
renewal of friendship with their domain. They were like two children and
were gayer than the spring. Then one evening Mark said,

"And now, Kitty, I am going to start work again. Berrand has written
that he will be in England next week and will come on here at once. But
he won't disturb me. And my scheme is ready."

Catherine felt the breath fluttering in her throat as she murmured,

"Your scheme is ready?"

"Yes. It's a great one. Berrand thinks so. I have written something of
it to him. I am going to trace the downfall of a nature from nobility to
utter degradation."

His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, as he repeated in thrilling tones,

"Utter degradation."

Catherine thought of the spring night, in which such holy preparations
for joy were silently being carried on, of all the youthful things just
coming into life. An inspiration came to her. She caught her husband's
hand and drew him to the window.

"Pull up the blind, Mark," she said.

He obeyed, smiling at her as if in wonder at this freak.

"Now open the window."

"Yes, dear. There! What next?"

In front of the window there was a riband