As to the Catholic friends, surely she had done her best! She had called with Augustina on the Reverend Mother and Sister Angela--a cold, embarrassed visit. She had tried to be civil whenever they came to the house. She had borne with the dubious congratulations of Father Bowles. She had never once asked to see any portion of that correspondence which Helbeck had been carrying on for weeks with Father Leadham, persuaded though she was, from its effects on Helbeck's moods and actions, that it was wholly concerned with their engagement, and with the problems and difficulties it presented from the Catholic point of view. She was preparing even to welcome with politeness that young Jesuit who had neglected his dying mother, against whom--on the stories she had heard--her whole inner nature cried out.... * * * * * The sound of a horse approaching. Up sprang the dogs, and she with them. Helbeck waved his hand to her as he came over the bridge. Then at the gate he dismounted, seeing Wilson in the drive, and gave his horse to the old bailiff. "Cross the bridge with me," he said, as he joined her, "and let us walk home the other side of the river. Is it too far?" His eyes searched her face--with the eagerness of one who has found absence a burden. She shook her head and smiled. The little frown that had been marring the youth of her pretty brow smoothed itself away. She tripped beside him, feeling the contagion of his joy--inwardly repentant--and very happy. But he was tired and disappointed by the day's result. The contract was not signed. His solicitor had been summoned in haste to make the will of a neighbouring magnate; some of the last formalities of his own business had been left uncompleted; and in short the matter was postponed for at least a day or two. "I wish it was done," he said, sighing--and Laura could only feel that the responsibilities and anxieties weighing upon him seemed to press with unusual strength. A rosy evening stole upon them as they walked along the Greet.--The glow caught the grey walls of the house on the further bank--lit up the reaches of the stream--and the bare branch work of a great ruined tree in front of them. Long lines of heavy wood closed the horizon on either hand, shutting in the house, the river, and their two figures. "How solitary we are here!" he said, suddenly looking round him. "Oh! Laura, can you be happy--with poverty--and me?" "Well, I shan't read my prayer-book along the river!--and I shan't embroider curtains for the best bedroom--alack! Perhaps a new piano might keep me quiet--I don't know!" He looked at her, then quickly withdrew his eyes, as though they offended. Through his mind had run the sacred thought, "Her children will fill her life--and mine!" "When am I to teach you Latin?" he said, laughing. She raised her shoulders. "I wouldn't learn it if I could do without it! But you Catholics are bred upon it."