the fair performers found fault with their
instruments--then with themselves--and presently gave up the attempt in
despair. But when, at a later period of the evening, Kate's spirits had
been a little exhilarated with dancing, and she sat down, at Lord De la
Zouch's request, and gave that exquisite song from the _Tempest_--"Where
the bee sucks"--all the witchery of her voice and manner had returned;
and as for Delamere, he would have given the world to marry her that
minute, and so forever extinguish the hopes of--as he imagined--two or
three nascent competitors for the beautiful prize then present.

That Kate was good as beautiful, the following little incident, which
happened to her on the ensuing evening, will show. There was a girl in
the village at Yatton, about sixteen or seventeen years old, called
Phoebe Williams; a very pretty girl, and who had spent about two years
at the Hall as a laundry-maid, but had been obliged, some few months
before the time I am speaking of, to return to her parents in the
village, ill of a decline. She had been a sweet-tempered girl in her
situation, and all her fellow-servants felt great interest in her, as
also did Miss Aubrey. Mrs. Aubrey sent her daily jellies, sago, and
other such matters, suitable for the poor girl's condition; and about a
quarter of an hour after her return from Fotheringham, Miss Aubrey,
finding one of the female servants about to set off with some of the
above-mentioned articles, and hearing that poor Phoebe was getting
rapidly worse, instead of retiring to her room to undress, slipped on an
additional shawl, and resolved to accompany the servant to the village.
She said not a word to either her mother, her sister-in-law, or her
brother; but simply left word with her maid whither she was going, and
that she should quickly return. It was snowing smartly when Kate set
off; but she cared not, hurried on by the impulse of kindness, which led
her to pay perhaps a last visit to the humble sufferer. She walked
alongside of the elderly female servant, asking her a number of
questions about Phoebe, and her sorrowing father and mother. It was
nearly dark as they quitted the Park gates, and snowing, if anything,
faster than when they had left the Hall. Kate, wrapping her shawl still
closer round her slender figure, her face being pretty well protected by
her veil, hurried on, and they soon reached Williams' cottage. Its
humble tenants were, as may be imagined, not a litt