"There is no occasion," she replied, looking at him proudly. "I need no protector in St. Croix."
She opened the door and went out, and walked rapidly down the bleak avenue to the gates. The authoritative tone of the baronet stung her proud spirit to the quick.
"What right has he to talk to me like that?" she thought, angrily. "If I loved him, I would not endure it; I don't love him, and I won't endure it."
Her eyes flashed as she walked along, lightly and rapidly, holding her haughty head very erect. Greetings met her on every hand as she passed through the village. She never paused until she reached the church, and stood by the entrance gate of the little garden in front of the Curé's house. There she paused irresolute. How peaceful it was—what a holy hush seemed to linger round the place! All her courage left her, and she stood as timid and fluttering as any school-girl. While she hesitated, the door opened, and Father Francis stood looking at her.
"Come in, Miss Danton," he said. "You look as if you were almost afraid."
She opened the little gate and went up the path, looking strangely downcast and troubled. Father Francis held out his hand with a smile.
"I thought you would come to see me before you left Canada," he said, "although you seem to have rather forgotten your old friends of late. Come in."
"Are you alone?" Kate asked, following him into the little parlour.
"Quite alone. The Curé has gone two miles off on a sick call. And how are the good people of Danton Hall?"
"Very well," Kate answered, taking a seat by the window and looking out at the pale, yellow sunset.