'The world would say that, in persuading his rich brother's adopted son to rebel, he was probably actuated by money interests himself.'
Catherine was silent and very grave. This was her habitual manner when disappointed or grieved.
Mrs. Arderne bent down to glance at the saddened young face, and promptly repented for having banished its customary smile.
'There, I'm sorry I said that! No doubt Mr. Jack is a guileless hero; but such persons are often tiresome! Go and find him this evening, if you must, only don't perversely quarrel with the other uncle on his account,—that other, who has certainly been very badly treated!'
So, after tea, Catherine set forth at a brisk pace through the village, smiling to herself all the way so happily that many of the cottagers, seeing her, smiled too for sympathy.
Yes, here was the lane, or street rather, of which the postman had told her, leading out of the old market square. A small white house stood on the right, planted sideways, within a high wall. There was no proper entrance to it, only a narrow wooden door, painted green, and inscribed with the name, Redan Cottage.
At the sight of that address (which, after the manner of country dwellers, the postman had omitted to mention, having called the house 'Carmichael's'), Catherine's smile widened, and her heart began to beat fast in her eagerness. Redan Cottage!—of course that was the name Uncle Jack would have chosen for his house!
No sooner had she rung the bell than the door opened as if by magic, and a rosy-cheeked lad invited her to follow him across a tiny stone-floored yard, under an ivied porch, and indoors.
'I am expected!' thought Catherine.
Indeed, the boy had not paused to ask her name or business, and now preceded her into a little dark room, with the announcement: