Kate remained lost in thought without moving from the position in which she had heard Lord Effingham's parting words; she could hardly believe that he was really gone--that he would return no more; but stranger still, was the impression of regret and compassion he had left upon her mind. Surely there were the scattered elements of much good in his character. What was it that had so fatally disunited them? The repellent power of selfishness. He had, as he said, goodly gifts, rank, and riches, and intellectual power; but the heart, wherein is the balance which harmonises the whole, was corrupt and false; but her sensation was that of relief. One difficulty was removed; her cousin could not long remain in ignorance of his final rejection--nay, in justice to herself, she determined to mention having seen the Earl for the last time. "My way is becoming clear," was the most distinct idea, as she endeavoured to refix her thoughts upon her book. It was in vain she read and re-read each page, the words might be traced by the eye; but the mind was far too full to admit the sense; and in the struggle between reverie and attention, Mrs. Storey returned. "I am sure I have a thousand apologies to make, my dear, leaving you all the afternoon by yourself." "Indeed, Mrs. Storey, you need not apologise; besides I have not been alone. Lord Effingham has been here." "Oh, indeed," cried Mrs. Storey, eagerly. "Yes; and I do not think we shall be troubled with him any more." "Well, my dear, you know best; but--" and Mrs. Storey shook her head. In truth, the kind-hearted little woman was much attached to Kate, especially since she had been domesticated with her. She would gladly have witnessed her "_entrée_" at court in the character of the Countess of Effingham, and still more gladly shone in the reflected lustre of so brilliant a friend; but if Miss Vernon did not like him it was very unfortunate. The next morning brought Kate a letter from Lady Desmond, and another from nurse. The former, after commenting on Colonel Dashwood's sudden appearance in Dublin, and expressing, more constrainedly and coldly than usual, her hopes that Kate was happy, &c., &c., went on to say, "I am annoyed by a strange whim of nurse's; she will no doubt tell you all about it; she is determined on leaving me 'to see her people;' and as the only solution for such an amount of family affection, I must conclude that she is unhappy or uncomfortable in my establishment--I wish she would condescend to mention in what particular; but this is too candid a line of conduct for persons of her class." Kate felt deeply the acerbity with which her cousin wrote, and turned anxiously to nurse's letter for an explanation of the affair.