These words had rung in Katy’s ears for many a day, following her to the dance and to the opera, where even the music was drowned by the echo of the words, “lose your own soul.” But the sting grew less and less, till Katy no longer felt it, and now was only anxious to talk with Morris and convince him that she was not as thoughtless as he might suppose, that she still remembered his teachings, and the little church in the valley, preferring it to the handsome, aristocratic house where she went with the Camerons once on every Sunday. “One more week and then it is April,” she said to Wilford one evening after they had retired to their room, and she was talking of Silverton. “I guess we’d better go about the tenth. Shall you stay as long as I do?” Wilford bit his lip, and after a moment replied, “I have been talking with mother, and we think April is not a good time for you to be in the country; it is so wet and cold, and I want you here to help order our furniture.” “Oh, Wilford!” and Katy’s voice trembled, for from past experience she knew that for Wilford to object to her plans was equivalent to a refusal, and her heart throbbed with disappointment as she tried to listen while Wilford urged many reasons why she should not go, convincing her at last that of all times for visiting Silverton, spring was the worst; that summer or autumn were better, and that it was her duty to remain where she was until such time as he saw fit for her to do otherwise. This was the meaning of what he said, and though his manner was guarded, and his words kind, they were very conclusive, and with one gasping sob Katy gave up Silverton, charging it more to Mrs. Cameron than to Wilford, and writing next day to Helen that she could not come just then, but that after she was settled they might surely expect her. With a bitter pang Helen read this letter to the three women who had anticipated Katy’s visit so much, and each of whom cried quietly over her disappointment, while Uncle Ephraim went back to his work that afternoon with a heavy heart, for now his labor was not lightened by thoughts of Katy’s being there so soon. “Please God she may come to us sometime,” he said, pausing beneath the butternut in the meadow, and remembering just how Katy looked on that first day of her return from Canandaigua, when she sat on the flat stone while he piled up his hay and talked with her of different paths through life, one of which she must surely tread. She had said, “I will choose the straight and pleasant,” and some would think she had; but Uncle Ephraim was not so sure, and leaning against a tree, he asked silently that whether he ever saw his darling again or not, God would care for her and keep her unspotted from the world. CHAPTER XVII. THE NEW HOUSE.