weeping charge gently in a chair, and sat beside Catherine, holding
her hands to her bosom.

At this moment Dodbury entered to share his daughter's joy. But what
a reverse was here! Tears, silence, despondency. He was amazed,
disappointed; and anxiously inquired the cause. 'My son,' said Mrs
Hardman calmly, 'was a little shocked at Catherine's altered
appearance. Doubtless, when his first emotions of surprise are over,
all the happiness we anticipated will be realised.' But she
mistrusted her own thoughts: a dark presentiment had cast its shadow
over her mind.

That night was spent in festivity, in which Catherine was too ill to
join. She retired to her chamber, not to give way to unavailing
grief, but to fortify her mind against the worst. Mrs Hardman's
duties as hostess could not be neglected, and she mixed with her
guests with the dignified affability of former years. In watching her
son's proceedings, she had frequent occasion to bewail a coarseness
and impetuosity of manner, which had doubtless been imbibed from his
recent adventures. His attentions to Lady Elizabeth were as incessant
and warm as on a similar occasion they were cold and distant. When
the guests were retiring, he asked in a careless tone, 'By the by,
mother, what has become of Catherine?'

The answer to this question implied an accusation of cruelty in the
interview with Catherine. This brought a retort from Herbert, that
time was when Mrs Hardman pleaded another's cause. 'True,' replied
the mother, 'but since I have known Catherine's unmatched excellence,
I have grievously repented that I ever contemplated _that_ alliance.
Tell me, Herbert, at once, and honestly, have your feelings changed