"Whoever can ring so loud!—they'll bring down the bell! one would think they wished to—stay till I ask Eliza," exclaimed Mrs. Jorrocks.
In another moment, Eliza put in her head—
"Please, Miss Vernon, you're wanted."
Kate rose, and left the room, carelessly, thinking Mrs. Wilson required her presence; but the instant she passed the door, her eyes fell upon a stout, dumpy figure, which, hat in hand, stood on the door-mat—an unmistakeable figure, for a sight of which she had so pined. What she said, or did, she could not tell; some vague remembrance of throwing her arms round his neck, and sobbing there—she did preserve; but Winter has often said—that the way in which she clung to him, as if she could never grasp so blessed a reality close enough—her eager caresses—her broken exclamations of joy, affected him deeply, and revealed her past sufferings, more eloquently, than the most elaborate description.
"Well; but, figlia mia" said Winter, as she grew a little calmer, and they sat together in the fireless dining-room; "you look pale and thin," and he held her from him, and gazed at her till the moisture stood in his keen, black eyes. "My dear child, I am much to blame—I have neglected you; but I will atone for it—your last letter misled me completely; yet I ought to have returned home before."
"Oh! no, no! you are always good. Thank God—thank God, you are come at last."
"Yes! We arrived on Wednesday, and the next day I called on Langley; he gave me a sketch of your proceedings that thoroughly perplexed me. I had matters to arrange on Friday morning which could not be postponed, but my wife gave me no peace till I started by the mail train at nine o'clock last evening—so here I am!" Kate listened in rapt attention—was she really sitting once more beside the kind good artist? "My child, I fear you have suffered much, but we will try to cheer you up; if you prefer doing the thing independently, Mrs. Winter has grown a great lady, and requires a companion quite as much as Mrs. Rollocks, or Jollocks, or whatever her name is—and her husband too," continued Winter, more thickly than ever. "In a few weeks I shall have my house in A—— back on my hands—what say you, Kate, to making the old couple happy till you go to a home of your own? We may not be gay; but—"
"Oh! hush, hush! You do not know how overpoweringly delightful such a vision seems to me."
"Vision!—Corpo di Bacco, it shall be reality; and Mrs. O'Toole! my adopted daughter must have her own maid—che gloria—I have been expecting to see her broad, honest face every minute. My Kate—it must have gone hard with you to part with her."
But Kate could not speak—she could only clasp Winter's hand in both of hers, and murmur a broken thanksgiving, her eyes rivetted on her companion in speechless gratitude.