Langley and Mrs. Storey soon made their way to see her; the latter was, undoubtedly, of great use to Mrs. Winter, and an unimpeachable authority on all matters connected with shopping; they made endless excursions together, while Kate remained quietly at home, for a slight pain in the chest made Winter a little uneasy, and repose seemed now to her the greatest pleasure.
She had enjoyed nearly a week of this welcome rest, when the following letter from Lady Desmond was put into her hand—
"Perhaps the only intelligence which could have gladdened my heart, was that conveyed by your letter, dearest Kate. At last, my eyes are opened, fully opened, to the culpable folly and injustice of my conduct. Now, when it is too late to spare you the suffering I have inflicted. If you could see how I loathe myself, you would weep for me. God gave me health, and riches, an unspotted name, and a fair position; I paid back no tithe of gratitude or duty—and after a life of self-indulgence—He gave me the gracious task to guard and cherish my benefactor's child—see how I have performed the one incumbent but pleasant duty placed so clearly before me—discarded it—rejected it, for an unholy phantom. Oh, Kate, Kate! you are so patient, so good, so forgiving; and I, as I write each excellence, seem to myself so base, and implacable, and imperious, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof. But, thank God, your true, kind friends are restored to you—I see you are happy, and now I understand but too well why you remained so long at Carrington. Good Heavens! to what have I not driven you—persuading myself that your own guilty conscience would not permit you to accept the invitations I compelled myself to make. I do not ask you to forgive me—I know you do; but, oh, write to me—reconcile me to myself—I cannot rest. I wear myself out among these wretched people whom I half envy for their absorption in mere physical suffering, and still I do not sleep. I want to see you, to hear your voice. Oh, I am wretched.
"Write to me again—say you are happy—it is all that can console me.
"Yours, as in our old days,
"G. Desmond."
Kate did not lose an hour in replying to this letter, she wrote with all the simple wisdom of a true, pure, loving heart. True, deep, unchanging sympathy, and judicious respect, breathed through every line, and at the conclusion she declared her readiness to join her cousin as soon as Christmas, (which she had faithfully promised to spend with the Winters) was over.
"Or you might visit A——," she continued, "you would, I know, like my kind friends so much—you would enjoy Mr. Winter's artistic enthusiasm, and his wife's excellent quaintness. We shall have many pleasant days together yet, dearest Georgy, and leaving our faulty past in the hands of a merciful judge—help each other to live a better and a higher life for future."
Miss Vernon was here interrupted by the servant of the house, who came to say Mr. Winter was in the drawing-room, with a gentleman, and wanted her.
"Very well, I will be down in a moment," replied Miss Vernon, "I suppose it is Mr. Langley," she thought, as she hastily finished her letter, sealed and directed it, before descending to the drawing-room; the door was slightly open, and she heard a very clear quiet voice, which seemed familiar to her, say—