"I will do what is right, Maude, and I will be as kind as I can in doing it. Who loves Kitty as I do? There is a deal said about mother love; but, I tell thee, a father's love is bottomless. I would lay my life down for my little girl, this minute." "But not thy pride." "Not my honour--which is her honour also. Honour must stand with love, or else--nay, I will not give thee any more reasons. I know my decision is right; but it is thy way to make out that all my reasons are wrong. I wish thou wouldst prepare her a bit for what may come." "There is no preparation for sorrow, John. When it comes it smites." Then the Squire lit his pipe, and the mother went softly upstairs to look at her little girl. And, as she did so, Kate's arms enfolded her, and she whispered, "Piers is coming to-morrow. Are you glad, Mother?" Then, so strange and contrary is human nature, the mother felt a moment's angry annoyance. "Can you think of no one but Piers, Kate?" she asked. And the girl was suddenly aware of her selfish happiness, and ashamed of it. She ran after her mother, and brought her back to her bedside, and said sorrowfully, "I know, Mother, that about Piers I am a little sinner." And then Mrs. Atheling kissed her again, and answered, "Never mind, Kitty. I have often seen sinners that were more angel-like than saints--" and the shadow was over. Oh, how good it is when human nature reaches down to the perennial! [Illustration:] CHAPTER TWELFTH THE SHADOW OF SORROW STRETCHED OUT When the Squire entered the breakfast parlour, Kate was just coming in from the garden. The dew of the morning was on her cheeks, the scent of the sweet-briar and the daffodils in her hair, the songs of the thrush and the linnet in her heart. She was beautiful as Hebe, and fresh as Aurora. He clasped her face between his large hands, and she lifted the bunch of daffodils to his face, and asked, "Are they not beautiful? Do you know what Mr. Wordsworth says about them, Father?" "Not I! I never read his foolishness." "His 'foolishness' is music; I can tell you that. Listen sir,-- "'A smile of last year's sun strayed down the hills, And lost its way within yon windy wood; Lost through the months of snow--but not for good: I found it in a clump of daffodils.' Are they not lovely lines?" "They sound like most uncommon nonsense, Kitty. Come and sit beside me, I have something far more sensible and important to tell you." "About the Bill, Father?" "Partly about the Bill and partly about Edgar. Which news will you have first?" "Mother will say 'Edgar,' and I go with mother." "I do not think you can tell me any news about Edgar, John." "Go on, Father, mother is only talking. She is so anxious she cannot pour the coffee straight. What about Edgar?" "I must tell you that I made a speech two days before the House closed; and the papers said it was a very great speech, and I think it _was_ a tone or two above the average. Did you read it?"