Mr. and Mrs. Furze were not disturbed because their daughter was late. A neighbour told them that she had gone to the Rectory with Mr. and Mrs. Cardew, and Mrs. Furze was pleased that Eastthorpe should behold her daughter apparently on intimate terms with a clergyman so well known and so respectable. But it was ten o'clock, and they wished to be in bed. Mrs. Furze had gone to the window, and had partly pushed aside the blind, watching till Catharine should appear. Just as the clock struck she saw Catharine approaching with somebody whom she of course took for Mr. Cardew. The pair came nearer, and, to her astonishment, she recognised Tom. Nay more, she saw the couple halt near the gate, and that Tom was speaking very earnestly. Mrs. Furze was so absorbed that she did not recover herself until the interview was at an end, and before she could say a word to her husband, who was asleep in the arm-chair, her daughter was at the door. Mrs. Furze went to open it. "Why, Catharine, that surely wasn't Tom!" "Yes, it was, mother. Why not?" "To-om!" half shrieked Mrs. Furze. "Yes, Tom: I suppose father has gone to bed? Good-night, mother," and Catharine kissed her on the forehead and went upstairs. Mrs. Furze shut the door and rushed into the room. "My dear! my dear!" shaking him, "Catharine has come, and Tom brought her, and they stood ever so long talking to one another." Mr. Furze roused himself and took a little brandy-and-water. "Rubbish!" "Rubbish! it's all very well for you to say 'rubbish' when you've been snoring there!" "Well, where is she? Make her come in; let us hear what she has to say." "She's gone to bed. Now take my advice: don't speak to her to-night, but wait till to-morrow; you know what she is, and you had better think a bit." Mrs. Furze, notwithstanding her excitement, dreaded somewhat attacking Catharine without preparation. "There's no mistake about it," observed Mr. Furze, rousing himself, "that I have had my suspicions of Master Tom, but I never thought it would come to this; nor that Catharine would have anything to say to him. It was she, though, who said I could not do without him." "It was she," added Mrs. Furze, "who always stuck out against our coming up here, and was rude to Mrs. Colston and her son. I do not blame her so much, though, as I do that wretch of a Catchpole. What he wants is plain enough: he'll marry her and have the business, the son of a blind beggar who used to go on errands! Oh me! to think it has come to this, that my only child should be the wife of a pauper's son, and we've struggled so hard! What will the Colstons say, and all the church folk, and all the town, for the matter of that!"