Was Catharine happy? No, a famished heart is never content. In all her duties, one thought was forever uppermost, and even in her sleep she was haunted by two images: the husband who had abandoned her, and the child that had for a little time taken the place of her own. Was she never on earth to hear of them again? More than two years had gone by; what had the authorities done with the child? Was he among the pauper children? Was he dead, or had some person taken compassion on his helplessness? She had no way of learning. Mary Margaret, with all her goodness, did not know how to write, and the last time Catharine had looked for the humble roof that sheltered her in the hour of need, a brown-stone house was approaching completion upon the ground where it had stood; the rocks upon which the goat had browsed were blasted away, and no vestige of the pond remained. More than once, Catharine had written to Madame De Marke, imploring news of her husband. Not a word came in reply, but, spite of all this, a vague faith in him still lived in her heart. Thus time wore on, not heavily, as he creeps with those who have no duties to perform, but surely leaving traces of his progress, either for good or for evil, on every living thing. To Catharine he had given health, intelligence, a rich growth of mind, and such beauty as her early years had never promised. Her slender girlishness had rounded into perfect proportion, not the less delicate because it had ceased to be fragile. Her face had gained bloom and expression. Timid hesitation of manner had given way to a calm self-composure, modest as it was dignified. Such was Catharine as she entered into her real womanhood. CHAPTER XXXV. SHOWING HOW A GOOD WOMAN CAN DIE. Catharine did not observe it at first, but Mrs. Barr had been failing for more than a year. A life of constant exertion began to tell upon her, and she was at last clearly admonished that her days of usefulness were drawing to a close. She said little about this, until increasing weakness forced her to relinquish some of her duties; not that the subject troubled her, but her noble heart shrunk from giving the pain which the mournful truth must inflict on her best friend and almost daughter. One night there was a dance in the dining-room of the Asylum; for it was a part of Mrs. Barr’s new system, that amusements of all kinds, which could inspire wholesome pleasure, were the best means of restoration in almost every case of insanity. It was understood that all the usual preparations for a ball were to be insisted upon, and no set of school-children ever exhibited more interest in an exhibition, than these unfortunates took in their toilets.