This woke her up, and she sat up, looking very stern, and as if going to sleep with so much trouble on the way was the last thing possible. But nature was very strong, and the desire for sleep more powerful than the sorrow from which she suffered; and she was dozing off again when her husband rose suddenly to ring the bell, the servants came in, prayers were read, and at a few minutes after ten Wilton took a chamber candlestick and led the way to bed. He turned off, though, signing to Mrs Wilton to follow him, and on reaching his niece's room, tapped at the door gently. "Kate--Kate, my dear," he said, and Mrs Wilton looked at him wonderingly. "Yes, uncle." "How are you now, my child?" "Not very well, uncle." "Very sorry, my dear. Can your aunt get you anything?" "No; I thank you." "Wish you a good night, then. I am very sorry about that upset this afternoon.--Come, my dear." "Good-night, Kate, my love," said Mrs Wilton, with her ear against the panel; "I do hope you will be able to sleep." "Good-night, aunt," said the girl quietly; and they went back to their own door. "Won't you come and say `good-night' to poor Claud, dear?" whispered Mrs Wilton. "No, `poor Claud' has to come to me first.--Go in." He held open the door for his wife to enter, and then followed and locked it, and for some hours the Manor House was very still. The next morning James Wilton was out a couple of hours before breakfast, busying himself around his home farm as if nothing whatever had happened and there was no fear of a foreclosure, consequent upon any action by John Garstang. He was back ready for breakfast rather later than his usual time, just as Mrs Wilton came bustling in to unlock the tea-caddy, and he nodded, and spoke rather gruffly: "Claud not down?" he said. "No, my dear; I saw you coming across the garden just as I was going to his room to see how he was." "Oh, Samuel,"--to the man, who entered with a dish and hot plates,--"go and tell Mr Claud that we're waiting breakfast." The man went. "Let me go up, my dear. Poor boy! he must feel a bit reluctant to come down and meet you this morning." "Poor fellow! he always was afflicted with that kind of timid shrinking," said Wilton, ironically. "No, stop. How is Kate?" "I don't know, my dear; Eliza said that she had been twice to her room, but she was evidently fast asleep, and she would not disturb her." "Humph! I shall be glad when she can come regularly to her meals." "What shall you say to her this morning?" "Wait and see--Well, is he coming down?" "Beg pardon, sir," said the footman. "I've been knocking ever so long at Mr Claud's door, and I can't get any answer." Mrs Wilton's hand dropped from the tap of the tea urn, and the boiling water began to flow over the top of the pot. "Humph! Sulky," muttered Wilton--"Eh? What are you staring at?" "Beg pardon, sir, but he didn't put his boots outside last night, and he never took his hot water in."