So all was settled, and Katharine Kingsworth found her lot at last. The clear honesty which was her best inheritance had guided her through the dangers of her first girlish fancy, and through the perplexities of her decision, and the aim of her mother’s life was fulfilled in spite of the mistakes she had made in carrying it out.
“If you had not made Katharine a good girl,” the Canon said to her, “she would not have had the chance of her present happiness.”
“She is a good girl,” said Mrs Kingsworth. “I ought to have found it out sooner.”
“Katie,” said Walter Kingsworth to his bride on their wedding day, “before we go to Scotland I want to show you a place in which we are both interested. Will you come?”
“Of course I will. Where is it?”
“You shall see.”
Kate laughed at the mystery, but after all it mattered little where they went. As they got out of the train at a station unknown to her before, and drove across country several miles, through the ripening cornfields—
“Why, Walter, I have been here before. Why this is Mayford! Is it Kingsworth you mean?”
“Yes, why not Kingsworth?”
“Well, I do not see why you want to see it. And the bells are ringing. Not for us surely?”