And so Katy caught eagerly at the prospect of a release from the restraint of No.——, seeming so anxious that Wilford, almost before he was aware of it himself, became the owner of one of the most desirable situations on Madison Square. Of all the household after Katy, Juno was perhaps the only one glad of the new house. It would be a change for herself, for she meant to spend much of her time on Madison Square, where everything was to be on the most magnificent style. Fortunately for Katy, she knew nothing of Juno’s intentions and built castles of her new home, where mother could come with Helen and Dr. Grant. Somehow she never saw Uncle Ephraim, nor his wife, nor Aunt Betsy there. She knew how out of place they would appear, and how they would annoy Wilford; but surely to her mother and Helen there could be no objection, and when she first went over the house she designated this room as mother’s, and another one as Helen’s, thinking how each should be fitted up with direct reference to their tastes, Helen’s containing a great many books, while her mother’s should have easy-chairs and lounges, with a host of drawers for holding things. And Wilford heard it all, making no reply, but considering how he could manage best so as to have no scene, for he had not the slightest intention of inviting either Mrs. Lennox or Helen to visit him, much less to become a part of his household. That he did not marry Katy’s relatives was a fact as fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians, and Katy’s anticipations were answering no other purpose than to divert her mind for the time being, keeping her bright and cheerful. Very pleasant indeed were the pictures Katy drew of the new house where Helen was to come, but pleasanter far were her pictures of that visit to Silverton, to occur in April. Poor Katy! how much she thought about that visit when she should see them all and go with Uncle Ephraim down into the meadows, making believe she was Katy Lennox still—when she could climb the ladder in the barn after new-laid eggs, or steal across the fields to Linwood, talking with Morris as she used to talk in the days which seemed so long ago. Morris she feared was not liking her as well as of old, thinking her very frivolous and silly, for he had only written her one short note in reply to the letter she had sent, telling him of the parties she had attended, and the gay, happy life she led, for to him she would not then confess that in her cup of joy there was a single bitter dreg. All was bright and fair, she said, and Morris had replied that he was glad, “But do not forget that _death_ can find you even amid your splendor, or that after death the judgment comes, and then what shall it profit you if you gain the whole world and lose your own soul.”