'She was "very vilely proud," and so are you,' said Katharine, tears springing to her eyes, greatly to her own. amazement and disgust. Finding that he only smiled, and anxious that he should not see those unruly tears, she added, 'And it is actually getting quite dark——; the dew is falling. Look at those white mists rising from the flat meadows beside the river. I am going ho- ; I mean it is time to go in.'

'Ah! I believe it is,' he replied, rousing. himself, and springing to his feet. Then they traversed the darkening meadows, the shadowy village, and the white dusty road; and when they at last landed at Eliza Earnshaw's house it was dark.

'Dear me!' exclaimed Katharine, as they went up the garden, 'I asked you to tell me about Hamerton, and we have scarcely mentioned it!'

CHAPTER XIX.

'He is ordained to call, and I to come.'-BROWNING.

EPTEMBER had been ushered in.

That year the harvest was not early, but full and plenteous.

The

rich land of Durham and Yorkshire lay level and fertile under the sunny sky. The trees had begun to show autumn's first tinge of pale gold. The corn, in the latter end of August, had been a wonderful sight, waving and rustling in the fields from morning to night, ear whispering to ear the secret of the wonderful season, while poppies glowed and the deep-blue corn flowers gleamed in the

furrows; and standing on a height, you saw miles of this glorious land, with its 'pleasant steads' scattered here and there, up to the lavender horizon warm,' where earth and heaven met.

For several days Katharine heard no more from Ughtred of his project or his hopes, but it seemed as if, by their conversation in the meadow that evening, the ice had been so thoroughly broken that it could never reunite and freeze between them again, cold and ungenial. From that time Katharine no more took her long wandering walks alone, aimless and solitary. Occasionally Susannah would accompany her and Ughtred, but not often she had not the slightest sympathy with nature, but was one of those to whom

'The primrose on the river's brim

A yellow primrose is,'

and she was so miserable at their awful latitude of opinion upon matters religious, moral, and theological, and so urgent in her

efforts to convert them, that she derived nothing but pain from their society; therefore, oftener than not, they were alone. Katharine grew to recognize this period, with a deep sense of praise and thankfulness, as one of those rare 'seasons of calm weather,' in which,

'Though inland far we be,

Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither-

Can in a moment travel thither,

And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore ;'

with all the fever and passion of her life, she had never yet touched. She let the days go by, not wishing to disturb the deep, calm happiness upon which she had at last lighted, by any question as to its whence, wherefore, or for how long. Enough that the days no longer seemed weeks, nor the weeks months, but that they slipped by as quickly, and as filled with hope and peace, as the murmuring

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P

river by which she had sat and talked with her friend. She felt rest, hope, and deep content in the mere fact that Ughtred Earnshaw was near to her-safety and shelter in the very sound of his footfall. But one morning she was roused from this pleasant dream by a letter from a Manchester firm. They wished to know Earnshaw's character, and his qualifications as manager and man of business. When she had answered the letter, she realized that if the report she gave decided the firm favourably, the result could only be one thing- Ughtred's departure; at the idea of which she felt very wretched. When he went; -again came the questions which for three blissful weeks had been silentsilent- Where am I to go? What am I to do? Who will care for me? Who will want me? The answer to the two last was short and easy enough.

,

A day came at last, when the sun no longer shone-September went out with the