Ah! Fred Egerton, dashing and fearless as you are, could you brave danger and death with nobler courage than that which steadied Kate's voice, when, instead of yielding to the almost irresistible inclination to throw herself into her grandfather's arms and pour forth passionate and tearful assurances, that, come what may, there was a world of inexhaustible love and energy, all his own in her heart, she said gently, but with a certain cheering steadiness-- "Well, always quite well, dear grandpapa. Now take a nice sleep." "God bless you, Kate." Seating herself, book in hand, in the window, away from the fire, for which the evening was almost too warm, but which the Colonel could not bear to give up, she gazed long and fixedly at the river, and the broken bank, the fields, the copse, and an orchard to the right, now one sheet of blossom; the sturdy old oak, which had looked like a rugged skeleton all the winter, now bursting into leaf; at the general flush of delicate, yellowish green which seemed to pervade all vegetable nature; yet the gradual close of evening, beautiful as it was, impressed her with a feeling of sadness, partly caused by the emotions of the day, and partly by the mournful tenderness, which is so often and so strangely induced, by the contemplation of coming night in early spring. As Kate sat leaning her head against the window frame, her book hanging negligently from her hand, thinking of the rich autumn scene this view had presented, when Fred Egerton sketched it for her, some little bustle outside the drawing-room door attracted her attention, it was opened, and nurse announced, "Misther and Missis Winther, Miss Kate." Seldom had visitors been more heartily welcome, their coming was an inexpressible relief to Kate, and helped her well over the evening she had almost dreaded. Few in this trying world of ours, do not know that there are times when a _tête-à-tête_ with the person we love most on earth is an ordeal we would fain escape; when we shun the slightest expression of tenderness, lest it should betray the deep and yearning affection which swells the heart with sadness, not for ourselves, but for those for whom no sacrifice would seem painful, could we but save them them from suffering. * * * * * "Shall I brush yer hair asthore?" said Mrs. O'Toole, as she followed Kate into her room. "No, dear nurse, only I want a little rest." "There's a shadow on yer face, darlint, an wont ye spake it out to yer own ould nurse, that held ye in her arms an ye a dawshy little craythure, widout a mother. May be, it's bad news of the Captin?" "Of the Captain! No, we have heard nothing of him; but, good night, I will tell you all to-morrow, dear nurse--I am weary now."