Brazer's dog was returned to him, safe and sound, but our dog had never come back to us, and the Squire was looking out for another. Dick Standish protested his innocence yet; but he had gone roving the country with that other dog, and no doubt had sold Don to somebody at a safe distance. Perhaps had dyed him a fine gold first; as the dyer dyed his dog at Evesham. * * * * * "Now, Miss Katrine, there's not a bit of sense in it!" It was Christmas Eve. Katrine was sitting in the twilight by the parlour fire, and Joan was scolding. She had brought in a tray of tea with some bread-and-butter; Katrine was glad enough of the tea, but said she could not eat; she always said so now. "Be whipped if I can tell what has got into the child!" stormed Joan. "Do you want to starve yourself right out?--do you want to----" "There's papa," interrupted Katrine, as the house door was heard to open. "You must bring in more tea now, Joan." This door opened next, and some one stood looking in. Not Mr. Barbary. Katrine gazed with dilating eyes, as the firelight flickered on the intruder's face: and then she caught hold of Joan with an awful cry. For he who had come in bore the semblance of Edgar Reste. "Why, Katrine, my dear, have you been ill?" Katrine burst into hysterical tears as her terror passed. She had been taking it for Mr. Reste's apparition, you see, whereas it was Mr. Reste himself. Joan closed the shutters, stirred the fire, and went away to see what she could do for him in the shape of eatables after his journey. He sat down by Katrine, and took her poor wan face to his sheltering arms. In the sobbing excitement of the moment, in the strangely wonderful relief his presence brought, Katrine breathed forth the truth; that she had seen him, as she believed, _buried_ under the summer-apple tree; had believed it all this time, and that it had been slowly killing her. Mr. Reste laughed a little at the idea of his being buried, and cleared up matters in a few brief words. "But why did you never write?" she asked. "Being at issue with Mr. Barbary, I would not write to him: and I thought, Katrine, that the less you were reminded of me the better. I waited in London until my luggage came up, and then went straight to Dieppe, without having seen any one I knew; without having even shown myself at my Chambers----" "But why not, Edgar?" she interrupted. Mr. Reste laughed. "Well, I had reasons. I had left a few outstanding accounts there, and was not then prepared to pay them and I did not care to give a clue to my address to be bothered with letters." "You did not even write to Captain Amphlett. He came here to see after you." "I wrote to him from Dieppe; not quite at first, though. Buried under the apple-tree! that _is_ a joke, Katrine!"