In accordance with this determination, Mr. Simnel that afternoon mounted his thoroughbred and cantered off to The Den. He found the mistress of the house at home, seated on a rustic seat, in a little grass-plot in front of the drawing-room window, with a carriage-whip in her hand, with which she was flicking the heads off such flowers as were within reach. She had evidently just come in from a drive, for she still wore her bonnet and black-lace shawl, though the former was perched on the top of her head, to keep off the sun, while the latter hung trailing down her back. She had altered in appearance, and not for the better: her eyes were unnaturally bright; her cheeks sunken, and marked here and there with hectic patches. Simnel gave his horse to a groom, and walked up the garden-path. Kate Mellon looked up at the sound of his advancing footsteps; at first vacantly enough, but when she recognised him, she roused herself, and got up to meet him. "How are you Simnel?" she said, with outstretched hand. "I was thinking of you only to-day, and wondering what had become of you. It's ages since you've been up here." "I've been very busy, Kate, and been unable to come. You know my wish is to come as frequently as possible; oh, you needn't shake your head, because you are quite certain of it; but that's neither here nor there. I keep to my portion of the contract, and shall not bore you about myself until I've shown you I've a right to ask you to listen to me. And now, how are you, and what are you doing? To tell truth, I don't think you look very bonny, young woman: a little dragged, eh? End of the season, perhaps?" "Oh, I'm all right!" said Kate, hurriedly; "never better in health, and jolly; that's the great point, isn't it, Simnel, eh? I'm learning to look after number one, you know; and when you can do that, you're all right, ain't you? Have some lunch? No? then look here; I've got something you must taste,--some wonderful Madeira. Oh, all right; I know it'll put some colour into your cheeks, and do you good." She called to a passing servant, and the wine was brought,--rare old tawny, full-bodied, mellow Madeira,--such wine as is now to be met in about a dozen houses in the land, and utterly different from the mixture of mahogany-shavings and brandy which is sold under its name. Simnel poured out two half-glasses; but Kate took the decanter from him, filled her glass to the brim, and nodding to him, drank off half its contents. "Ah!" said she, with a long-drawn inspiration; "that's the stuff! No nonsense in that, you know; doesn't pretend to be what it isn't, and can't deceive you. Tom Gillespie sent me a lot of that: found no end of it in the cellars of his old uncle, the East-India Director, whose tin he came in for. I find it does me good, steadies my nerve, and gives me fresh life. What are you shaking your head at?"