welfare rather than for his own pleasure, the contemplation of his vision of what might be, cast a shadow into his eyes. Watching him, Catherine learned how sincerely he wanted her.

Though a most unworldly young woman (as Mrs. Arderne had often told her), she could not help understanding that she had made a choice which most people would blame and ridicule. She had promised always to regard Redan Cottage as home. Though she honestly believed that Uncle Ross would keep to his intention of leaving his wealth to be divided among charities, she could not deny that he might offer her, and even her husband, a home during his lifetime—possibly a small portion of his fortune might be set aside for them.

Yet, as she had said, she believed 'the right of the quarrel to be on Uncle Jack's side,' and never could she deny this belief.

The result of her short reflection was that she said happily, 'I have got a home now, and I prefer it to any other at present existing in all the world, dear colonel!'

'Then my duty is done! I need never again try to persuade you to desert me, lassie! And if Brian is vexed with me——'

'But he won't be.'

'No doubt you can answer for him, so I won't trouble over any supposition! Ross does not need you, as Agatha does. He is a good man, in his own way; Heaven forbid I should judge him harshly, but he would not be grateful for being taught religion.'

'My choice is made, uncle dear, and you may be sure I shall never, never regret it!'

'God bless you, lassie!'

The old gentleman bent his lips to his niece's hand, and they were both silent for a minute or two, gazing into the fire. Then he said:

'I must take you to Agatha now; the poor little maid will be wearying for you.'

So Catherine was led out of the tiny parlour, across the hall of this doll's house of a cottage, past the open door of the kitchen, where old Harriet and Robert were waiting to catch a glimpse of her as she passed, and into another room as wee as the parlour, where bright pictures, pink curtains and upholstery generally, and the presence of flowers, betokened the colonel's fatherly care for his adopted ward.

CHAPTER IV

Catherine's Resolution

Agatha had been an invalid all her short life. Suffering had made her fretful and terribly nervous, especially of death, which she always imagined to be coming soon to her. She was not at all resigned to her lot, nor anxious to learn resignation, unless to escape the punishment that she feared must be the result of rebellion.

A more unhappy, self-tormenting child could scarcely exist.

Directly Catherine caught sight of the piteous-looking countenance, with its great dark passionate eyes, her heart went out to Agatha.

The little girl was lying flat on a wheel-couch before the fire, with her face turned away from the warmth, towards the door of the room. There were tears on her cheeks; she had been indulging in a stormy fit of crying because she had been, as the colonel had surmised, wearying for the coming of Catherine.

'You might have come to me sooner!'

These were her first words.

Bending to kiss her—a greeting that was warmly returned—Catherine answered:

'It is such a long while since I saw Uncle Jack that it was excusable for us to have a great deal to say to one another, wasn't it? Don't scold me on the very first evening of our acquaintance, Agatha, for you and I will be friends soon, I hope. It is very nice of you to be anxious to share your home with me, dear. I cannot come to live here, but I shall pay you frequent visits, and spend my holidays with you both.'

'You won't come altogether?'

'I cannot give up my work.'

Agatha laughed bitterly, and shrugged her shoulders with the gesture of a spoiled child.

'I suppose you're afraid of offending our enemy! Guardian, don't look cross with me because I said that! He is our enemy, if he isn't more willing to make up the quarrel than you say he is. Miss Carmichael, you'll be very silly if you don't take Uncle Ross's side of the dispute, not ours! Being poor, and living in a tiny cottage, and having to be economical, is so horrid!'

The colonel showed no sign of being cross; there was only an expression of perplexity in the gaze he bent upon his ward.

'Now, dearie, do not try to shock Catherine—she will not understand, as I do, that you never mean one half the shocking things you say.'

'Oh, guardian, I can't be polite to her, just as though she were a stranger, for I'm much too glad she's come. Catherine, if you make Uncle Ross adopt you, I suppose you'll be cutting us out, spoiling any chances we may have, you know, but I don't mind that a bit, and you can see guardian doesn't. Will you promise always to remember that? I would like the quarrel to be made up, just so that we went back to Carm Hail to live, but that's all! I don't want any one to leave money to us, because——Oh, never mind about why. Only say you won't misunderstand when I grumble! I want you most of all; if you'd come and live here, it wouldn't be as dull, and it's only the dulness that matters much.'

This extraordinary series of sentences was delivered in a jerky, half-shy, half-reckless fashion, and Agatha's glance remained fixed on Catherine's face.

Stroking the child's thin cheek, Miss Carmichael asked playfully:

'Don't you know that you would have to be still more economical if I came to live here, dear?'

To her amazement Agatha burst into tears.

'There! you will misunderstand me! I only mind economy because I'm miserable often, and dull, and frightened. Now you've forced me to tell the truth, and guardian's feelings will be hurt. Oh, I'm always doing wrong somehow!'

Catherine sat down on the edge of the couch, and laid her face on the tumbled mass of brown curls.

'You little goose! I was half in fun. I do believe that you want me to come; only I can't, so you must be content to have me sometimes.'

The sobs still continued.

Uncle Jack smiled wistfully at his niece, shook his head with a puzzled air, and stole out of the room, wisely thinking that the two girls, of ages so different, would arrive sooner at mutual understanding if they were left alone together.

Catherine refrained from asking for an explanation of the sobs, and presently Agatha raised a tear-strewn face out of the pillows, and nestling her cheek against her new friend's arm, said penitently:

'I'm sorry I'm such a little beast. My ideas are all in a muddle, so that it's impossible for me to make you understand what I mean. And I was trying to be diplomatic, and you've no notion how difficult that is when one's head is always aching!'

'Poor little woman! But why want to be diplomatic? Simplicity is true, noble and best. Your guardian has a simple heart.'

'I am going to try to make you understand, Catherine!' cried Agatha resolutely. 'Ever since guardian adopted me I've heard praises of you—of your courage, and sincerity, and beauty, and talents—until you've become a sort of ideal to me. Do you see?'

'A very poor basis to found an ideal upon!' laughed Catherine.

'I know all about your Australian life—how you found out when the stockman (Jock was his name, wasn't it?) was being cruel to the cattle, and you told your stepfather about him, in spite of his threats of revenge. I've made a map of the station, and guardian marked the paddock-fence where your pony threw you when you were a child, and you called to your mother that you were "all right," though your leg was broken! I know how you used to spend