I worked fifty times harder than my duties as Mrs. Arderne's companion oblige me to do now; and, after all, work is happiness, when God sanctions it. You shall hear no grumbles from me, I promise you! My stepfather is not dead, only bankrupt, and the station has passed into other hands. Mother's money, the little fortune she left me, has vanished, and Alice is married. Mrs. Arderne offered me a home just when I found myself without one. The dear kind soul has no real need of a "companion," so I tell her often; yet, as she does not wish me to leave her, I feel justified in remaining under her roof. This is a hired roof, by-the-bye, uncle—a furnished villa, taken for six months, because she has friends in the neighbourhood. Is it not a splendid opportunity for me to see you both again? It is ten years since we last met, when I rode with you as far as the boundary-rider's hut on the Curra Paddock. We said good-bye at Wattle Creek, do you recollect? Uncle Jack, seeing that I was nearly crying, tried to cheer me by inviting me to Beverbridge for next Christmas; but I went home in tears, because I knew I shouldn't be allowed to go to England all by myself. Yet here I am—ten years later! I'm grown up now, though; not "little Catherine" any longer!

'My pen has been running on, while I ought to have reserved all my news to tell you to-morrow, when I see you again; and I have not been able to resist writing to Uncle Jack as well as to you.

'Good-bye again, dear uncle, for a very short time now.

'Your affectionate niece,

'Catherine Carmichael.'

'Ha!—couldn't resist writing to "Uncle Jack" as well!'

The squire sighed and frowned as he pondered this admission.

Ten minutes later the library door behind him opened and shut, and he was startled by a voice which cried:

'Uncle, you didn't want me to wait ceremoniously in the drawing-room, did you?'

'Bless my soul, it is you, Catherine!'

The girl let both her hands remain in his grasp, and stood facing him, smiling, scrutinizing his face eagerly.

'Yes, Catherine at twenty-five instead of fifteen! You look very little older, only your beard has turned quite white!... How is Uncle Jack? Shall I see any difference in him? Is he as upright as ever?'

'He—I—I really do not know, my dear.'

'Not know? Oh, you mean that people who are always together are easily deceived on such points.'

'No, I did not, Catherine. It is three years since your Uncle John and I were always together!'

'Your own, only brother! Perhaps he is abroad, serving his Queen and country?'

'He lives in Beverbridge still, but not here. Your letter has been sent on to him by one of my servants, though I might reasonably have returned it to Jenkins, the postman, who should have known his business better than to have delivered it wrongly. Now come into the drawing-room, my dear; there is a fire there.'

'Please let us stay here. You look at home in this room. The drawing-room will be a chilly-looking place, I know, in spite of the fire.'

Mr. Carmichael's gaze softened as it rested on the merry pleading face.

'Still the same roguish young lady, Catherine? Bent on having your own way, even in trivial matters! Ah, well, you ought to have it, if it doesn't spoil you.'

'That latter sentence was an after-thought, uncle! Thank you! Remember, I am not a spoilt child of fortune any longer, but poor Miss Carmichael, the companion!'

Her hearty laugh was not echoed by her relative. In his opinion the loss of money was a great evil,—a few years earlier he would have been disposed to think it the greatest possible, only he was beginning to realize that riches are less powerful than is usually supposed. Catherine, being quick to note changes of expression in those dear to her, cried suddenly:

'Uncle! you are sorry for me!'

'Is that so remarkable, my dear?'

'Perhaps not, only I—I regret it. Why should you worry over my case, when it does not in the least distress me? If I were very rich, I should worry about the responsibility of such a stewardship, for fear I might not make the best use of it, and so disappoint God.'

Mr. Carmichael smiled involuntarily.

'You have an extraordinarily familiar way of speaking of God!'

'Because I used the words "disappoint God"? Does He not yearn over sinners? Did Christ not weep over Jerusalem? Are we not told, "Ye have wearied the Lord with your words"? If you, uncle, had showered love and wonderful gifts upon a creature who cast away the affection and the help, would not you be disappointed?... Oh, forgive me! My thoughtlessness has hurt you! I—I forgot Loring!'

Her penitence was very real, and tears had come into her eyes. She felt desperately angry with herself for having reminded Uncle Ross of the nephew who had run away to be a soldier.

'Loring certainly disappointed me—he has left my home lonely; and you are right in supposing that I prefer not to speak of him.' The old man's brow had contracted with a frown, which deepened as he went on speaking. 'While we are upon the subject, Catherine, let me remind you that, had not Loring despised money, as you seem to do, he would not have behaved badly to me. I consider that men and women ought to desire and respect wealth.'

It was the office-chair in which Catherine was sitting. She swung it round, that she might face her uncle, who was standing beside her, and impulsively laid her hand on his, as she answered:

'It is difficult to be quite frank with you, yet sincerity is always best, isn't it? I don't despise money,—indeed, I do desire it,—at least I should like more than I have, because—because I am engaged to a very poor hard-working man, and we shall not be able to marry until his circumstances have improved.'

'Engaged, Catherine?'

She blushed and nodded.

'But please let me make my explanation first,—I will tell you all about him presently. Some one suggested to me that—that some people might suppose that I—expected help from you, or—or——Oh, please understand, uncle dear, without any more explaining!'

'Some one suggested that the pretty niece was going to see a rich old uncle who would probably make her his heiress,—was that it? In this cynical world motives are generally misjudged, my dear girl.'

'I told the person (it was not Brian) that my Melbourne cousins were nearer kin to you than I,—I am only a stepniece, though we have the same surname,—and also that you have resolved to leave your fortune to charities, as you told me by letter. All the same, I was foolishly nervous lest you might misunderstand me; so I assured you, too bluntly, that I am quite happy with Mrs. Arderne, and enjoy earning my own living.'

The frown had gone from the squire's brow. It was with a serene smile that he asked, pressing Catherine's hand:

'And I may believe without undue vanity, that you wanted to see the old uncle again for his own sake?'

'Yes; yes, indeed!'

'Now tell me about this Brian. Is he worthy of you?'

'Of course he is!'

'That reply was expected.'

'You mustn't tease me, if you want to hear about my first and last romance!'

Catherine was not used to speaking much about herself, so it was the relation of Brian North's merits, talents, and history which she told Uncle Ross, rather than the story of how she had learned to love this man to whom her promise was plighted.

The squire paid most attention to the description of Brian's abilities; in fact, the moneyed gentleman was trying to calculate the author's worth by estimating his possible financial success or failure.

'If the young fellow has tact and