"What a charming letter!" cried Kate, as she concluded. "Is it not delightful, to read such a candid, warm-hearted acknowledgement of error? I am so glad to have heard from her at last. It is so dreadful to feel that any chilling cloud of doubt intervenes between you and one you love!" "Yes, indeed," said the Colonel; "what a rash impulsive creature Georgy has ever been! rushing into injustice one moment, and atoning for it with such graceful self-abasement the next; it would be better if she could steer clear of both extremes; but let me look at that postscript again; she is as distinct as ladies usually are on legal subjects." Kate handed him the letter, and he continued to read and re-read the postscript for some minutes, with a look of concentrated attention, then, raising his eyes and speaking more to himself than to his grand-daughter-- "I am astonished, that Moore has not written to me on this matter," he said, in a displeased tone. "If this Taaffe, be the nephew of old Arthur Taaffe, and the papers required, those connected with that judgment;" he stopped abruptly, and sat for a few moments in deep thought, looking very grave. Kate also kept a respectful silence, feeling little interest in any legal matter, till her grandfather rousing himself, and with his old contented look returning, observed, "no, no! no man could act such a villanous part, he must be perfectly aware it was paid years ago." "What was paid, grandpapa?" "That debt to old Taaffe; he advanced my father money on Knockdrum, and got me to join in the bond, on which, of course judgments were entered against us both. I paid it years ago, and simply got an acknowledgement from him, but did not go through some other form, satisfying the judgment, I think they term it." "Well, I am sure no one would ever doubt your word," cried Kate, "even if these papers cannot be found." "I am afraid, my dear child, the great mass of legal and money-lending people do not come within the category of christians, who 'believe all things.' I must write to Moore this very day, I'll be in time for the Irish post, give me my desk, Kate." "But suppose this man insists on the production of these papers, and you cannot satisfy him?" asked Kate, as she was leaving the room after arranging the Colonel's writing materials. He looked up with a sudden expression of pain in his noble, benevolent countenance. "We shall be beggars, my child! that's all." Miss Vernon walked into the drawing-room, and opened the piano mechanically; while her thoughts were busily engaged in conjecturing whether the lingering debility of indisposition, rather than justly grounded fears, prompted her grandfather's gloomy view of Lady Desmond's intelligence. "Shall we then really know the poverty, nurse talks of? Shall I be strong enough to say, in sincerity, '_Thy will be done!_'"