"I often think we have a species of trinity within us," said Miss Vernon. "We have sense with all its powerful tendencies in one direction, and spirit with its aspirations in another, while the heart and its affections seem to be neutral ground, where the claims of both may be adjusted." "I like the fancy; but sense gets the upper hand in many a heart." "No," interrupted Kate, "the heart may be destroyed in the struggle, but while it exists, the spirit always has fair play." "Your sentence is too sweeping; in all such warfare, the variations are so delicately shaded that--" "Walk in, Colonel," broke in Winter; "never mind if Mrs. Winter is in or not; Gilpin, we'll have some Scotch broth for luncheon, that will set you up. I give you no choice--in you must come." "Sense must carry the day, Mr. Gilpin," said Kate, smiling. * * * * * Some days elapsed after this conversation before a reply from Mr. Moore reached the Colonel; and the anxiety he and Kate had experienced, died away into a half-forgetfulness. It is strange how events, which at first strike us with such keen force, lose their sharpness of outline as the mind becomes accustomed to what was at first a novel aspect of affairs; and, as nothing fresh arises, we gradually sink back into our former frame of mind, or recur to that which distressed it, in momentary spasms of anxiety. So Kate and her grandfather had quite recovered their usual serenity, and the former had written to Lady Desmond, long and affectionately; rejoicing that the cloud which had for a while interposed between them, had been dispersed; merely mentioning the obstacle to their journey, as a temporary annoyance, and speaking of its removal as a matter of certainty. But she did not allude to it when in conversation with the Colonel, as she fancied he avoided the subject. Such was their frame of mind when, at the usual post hour, one morning, Mrs. O'Toole entered. "A letther for the masther," a large, blue, pitiless looking envelop, such as emanate from attorneys' and merchants' offices, implacable places, sacrificial alters, where youth and joy, tenderness and the pleasant amenities of life are immolated at the shrine of the English juggernaut "business." The Colonel, keeping his eye fixed on it, felt in his pockets for his spectacles, silently, with a certain determination of manner, very different from the joyous confusion with which he sought for them, when opening Fred Egerton's letter; then with a loud hem, as if he wished to clear both throat and brains, he tore open the missive. Kate sat opposite gazing at him, as if she could read the contents through his countenance; and although that morning she had risen with the full conviction that the anticipated letter would only prove their anxiety to be groundless, she now felt the terrible, creeping, gnawing, sickening sensation of doubt and dread which makes the hand so cold, and the eye so dim, when felt in its full force.