“Ach!” she exclaimed, suddenly checking her laughter, and changing her smile to a frown; “the ribbon! he wears it still! What can it mean? No matter now! Ere long I shall unravel the skein of its silken mystery—even if this heart should be torn in the attempt!”
Volume One—Chapter Thirty Three.
Another of the Same.
On that same morning, and about the same hour, a scene of remarkable parallelism was passing at Mount Welcome. Loftus Vaughan was holding dialogue with his daughter, as Jacob Jessuron with Judith—the subject very similar—the motives of planter and penn-keeper equally mean.
“You have sent for me, papa?” said Kate, entering the great hall in obedience to a summons from her father.
“Yes, Catherine,” replied Mr Vaughan, in a tone of unwonted gravity.
The grave tone was not needed. The “Catherine” was enough to tell Kate that her father was in one of his serious moods: for it was only when in this vein, that he ever pronounced her baptismal name in full.
“Sit down there,” he proceeded, pointing to a fauteuil in front of where he was himself seated. “Sit down, my daughter, and listen: I have something of importance to say to you.”