"Bless thy dear soul!" he would frequently say to her. "God's best gift to a man is a daughter like thee. Sons are well enough to carry on the name and the land, and bring honour to the family; but the man God loves isn't left without a daughter to sweeten his days and keep his heart fresh and tender. Kitty! Kitty, how I do love thee!" And Kitty knew how to answer such true and noble affection; for,-- "Down the gulf of his condoled necessities, She cast her best: she flung herself." Oh, sweet domestic love! Surely _it is_ the spiritual world, the abiding kingdom of heaven, not far from any one of us. With a heavy heart the Squire went back to London. Mrs. Atheling took his gloom for a good sign. "Your father is always what the Scotch call 'fay' before trouble," she said to Kate. "The day your sister Edith died his ways made me angry. You would have thought some great joy had come to Atheling. He said he was sure Edith was going to live; and I knew she was going to die. I am glad he has gone to London sighing and shaking his head; it is a deal better sign than if he had gone laughing and shaking his bridle. He will meet Edgar in London, and Edgar won't let him look forward to trouble." But the Squire found Edgar was not in London when he arrived there; and Piers was as silent and as gloomy a companion as a worrying man could desire. He came to dine with his friend, and he listened to all his doleful prognostications; but his interest was forced and languid. For he also had lost the convictions that made the contest possible to him, and there was at the bottom of all his reasoning that little doubt as to the justice of his cause which likewise infected the Squire's more pronounced opinions. They were sitting one evening, after dinner, almost silent, the Squire smoking, Piers apparently reading the _Times_, when Edgar, with an almost boyish demonstrativeness, entered the room. He drew a chair between them, and sat down, saying, "I have just returned from the great Newhall Hill meeting. Father, think of two hundred thousand men gathered there for one united purpose." "I hope I have a few better thoughts to keep me busy, Edgar." Piers looked up with interest. "It must have been an exciting hour or two," he said. "I hardly knew whether I was in the body or out of the body," answered Edgar. "For a little while, at least, I was not conscious of the flesh. I had a taste of how the work of eternity may be done with the soul." "The _Times_ admits the two hundred thousand," said Piers, "and also that it was a remarkably orderly meeting. Who opened it? Was it Mr. O'Connell?" "The meeting was opened by the singing of a hymn. There were nine stanzas in it, and every one was sung with the most enthusiastic feeling. I remember only the opening lines: "'Over mountain, over plain, Echoing wide from sea to sea, Peals--and shall not peal in vain-- The trumpet call of Liberty!'