The colour mounted to her forehead, and a smile played about her lips, ready to break into a happy laugh. If Philip would but come in now! ‘Don’t put such notions into Kate’s head,’ said Aunt Brooks, precisely; ‘no well behaved young lady would think of setting her cap at any one.’ It was a restless evening for Kate. One hour after another passed by, and still he did not come. She went to the window, and opened it impatiently. She began to wonder if he meant to come in by the last train, and stay all night. But what would Aunt Brooks say? And what a strange hour it would be to begin to talk to her father about such a subject! She fancied it would take a very long time to introduce it, and afterwards to discuss it. But at half-past eleven Kate was compelled to give up expecting him and go to bed, when the fever of her new happiness having calmed a little, she slept profoundly, and dreamed of no trouble. But again there followed a morning and evening of expectation, dogged hour after hour by a strengthening disappointment. Kate sat moping over the fire, as Aunt Brooks said, trying to find reasons for Philip’s absence and silence. The crumpled letter had been carefully smoothed out again, and she read it till she knew every word by heart. But the pride and gladness died as her heart grew sick with the sickness of hope deferred. The brief sunshine at last faded quite out of her life, and left her in deeper darkness than before. She waited and trusted till she could wait and trust no longer; and then she gave herself up to the full sense of her bitter mortification and sorrow. There was no one to notice the change except her father, who was too busy to bestow more than a passing thought or two to her melancholy face and fading colour. Her happiness, like Jonah’s gourd, had sprung up in a night and perished in a night; and like him she was ready to exclaim, ‘It is better for me to die than to live.’ Christmas was near at hand before Kate recovered at all from her overwhelming sense of wretchedness and mortification. She was a pitiful and tender-hearted girl, fond of giving pleasure to others; and she began to feel as if it was necessary for her own relief to make this miserable Christmas a time of pleasure and festivity to some of her poorer neighbours. If she could not see happiness with her own eyes, she would like to look at it through other people’s. It was impossible to remove the heaviness of her heart, but she might try to lighten others’. So one evening when she and her father were alone together, she approached the subject cautiously. ‘Father,’ she said, ‘I want to make somebody in the world happier.’ Her voice was unconsciously very sorrowful. The burden that was oppressing her had made her feel that other people had heavy burdens to bear. She was learning that, in order to bear her own well, it was necessary to share that of another. Dr. Layard was distressed by the mournfulness of his daughter’s tone.