"Nay," she faltered, "I love neither, not to say love them: but I pity him so."
"Which?"
"Both."
"Ay, mistress; but which do you pity most?" asked the shrewd lawyer.
"Whichever shall come to harm for my sake," replied the simple girl.
"You could not go to them to-night, and bring them to reason?" asked she, piteously. She went to the window to see what sort of a night it was; she drew the heavy crimson curtains and opened the window. In rushed a bitter blast laden with flying snow. The window ledges too were clogged with snow, and all the ground was white.
Houseman shuddered, and drew nearer to the blazing logs. Kate closed the window with a groan. "It is not to be thought of," said she; "at your age; and not a road to be seen for snow. What shall I do?"
"Wait till to-morrow," said Mr. Houseman. (Procrastination was his daily work, being an attorney.) "To-morrow!" cried Catherine. "Perhaps even now they have met, and he lies a corpse."
"Who?"
"Whichever it is, I shall end my days in a convent praying for his soul." She wrung her hands while she said this, and still there was no catching her.