fathers of the Church
did use to choose for their rustic abbeys, whose ruins still survive to
remind us of the pious and glorious days gone by. Trout and salmon come
swimming to the door; hawthorn and woodbine are as rife there as weeds
be in some parts; two broad oaks stand on turf like velvet, and ring
with songbirds. A spot by nature sweet, calm, and holy,--good for pious
exercises and heavenly contemplation: there, methinks, if it be God's
will I should see old age, I would love to end my own days, at peace
with Heaven and with all mankind."

Kate was much moved by this picture, and her clasped hands and
glistening eyes showed the glory and delight it would be to her to build
a convent on so lovely a spot. But her words were vague. "How sweet! how
sweet!" was all she committed herself to. For, after what Tom Leicester
had just told her, she hardly knew what to say or what to think or what
to do; she felt she had become a mere puppet, first drawn one way, then
another.

One thing appeared pretty clear to her now: Father Francis did not mean
her to choose between her two lovers; he was good enough to relieve her
of that difficulty by choosing for her. She was to marry Neville.

She retired to rest directly after supper; for she was thoroughly worn
out. And the moment she rose to go, her father bounced up, and lighted
the bed-candle for her with novel fervor, and kissed her on the cheek,
and said in her ear,--

"Good night, my Lady Neville!"

CHAPTER VIII.

What with the day's excitement, and a sweet secluded convent in her
soul, and a bullet in her bosom, and a ringing in her ear, that sounded
mighty like "Lady Neville! Lady Neville! Lady Neville!" Kate spent a
restless night, and woke with a bad headache.

She sent her maid to excuse her, on this score, from going to Bolton
Hall. But she was informed, in reply, that the carriage had been got
ready expressly for her; so she must be good enough to shake off disease
and go; the air would do her a deal more good than lying abed.

Thereupon she dressed herself in her black silk gown, and came down,
looking pale and languid, but still quite lovely enough to discharge
what in this age of cant I suppose we should call "her mission":
_videlicet_, to set honest men by the ears.

At half past eight o'clock the carriage came round to the front door.
Its body, all glorious with the Peyton armorials and with patches of
rusty gilding, swung exceedingly loose on long le