"He said nothing, that is, I do not remember," replied Kate, confused and astonished at the coolness of this appeal. Lady Desmond glanced at her one speaking look that roused her to instant self-possession, though it made her heart beat. "I am told, Lord Effingham started this morning for the Isle of Wight," said Colonel Dashwood with a gravity unusual for him. "Hauton was over at Richmond and heard it there, something about his new yacht I believe, they said he will return next week." "_Figurez vous_," cried the second Miss Meredyth whose style was foreign and fantastic, "my cousin's dismay when he returns and finds Lady Desmond flown." "Perhaps it will be no great surprise to him," said Colonel Dashwood in a low voice to Kate. "Yes, I am sure it will," she replied. Lady Desmond invited the whole party, then assembled, to meet again, on the Wednesday evening following at her house; her last evening she said, as she intended starting on Thursday for London to Ireland. "Kate," she observed carelessly to one or two of her latest guests "is not half so true an Irishwoman as I am; she will not, I believe, accompany me at once, but lingers for a few weeks with some friends in town." Kate felt the tears rise to her eyes at hearing the separation so deplored, so dreaded by her, thus indifferently announced by her cousin, and she stood silent and dejected by the piano. After they were left alone, Lady Desmond threw herself into an arm chair and covering her face with her hands groaned aloud, then looking up, after a moment's silence, she showed a countenance so changed, so haggard, now that the strong curb of her will over her secret emotions was relaxed, that Miss Vernon absolutely started with surprise. "Have you written to Mrs. Storey?" "Yes." "Have you spoken to nurse?" "No; I thought it best to defer that until I got an answer." "As you choose." She rose slowly, and walked to the door, then turning, said-- "I have accepted every invitation offered to me--we have not an evening disengaged; but if you feel bored by them, or wish, for any reason, to remain at home, do not think yourself obliged to accompany me." She bowed, then again pausing. "You look wearied, Kate, would you like nurse to sleep in your room?" "No." "Solitude is best for both, I believe." And she left the room gloomily, darkly. Kate felt relieved when she was gone, and retired quickly. To pray to God, to think long and painfully, to count the night-watches, and, at last, to sink into a sound, sweet sleep, and charming but indistinct dreams of her cousin clasping her to her heart, and entreating forgiveness for the wrong she had done her. "Is it very late, nurse?" she asked, on opening her eyes the following morning, and seeing her faithful friend standing by the bed-side.