Ned Somers had followed Harson’s advice in not making his visits to Rhoneland’s too frequent. But whatever may have passed between him and Kate, and even if they did occasionally meet in the street and stop to speak, and sometimes to hold conversations which were neither short nor uninteresting to themselves, that is a matter between themselves with which we have nothing to do. Certain it is, however, that as Ned cooled off in his intimacy with Rhoneland, he appeared to rise in the old man’s estimation; and he grew more cordial when they did meet. It may have been that the suspicions implanted by Rust were gradually giving way before the frank, honest nature of the young man; or it may have been that gratitude for the assistance which Somers had lent, (and which Harson was very particular to give its full weight) in disentangling him from the toils of Rust; or it may have been the secret influence of Harson, who ventured, whenever it could be done, to speak a good word for Ned; or it may have been the drooping face of his child, which he was wont more than ever to study anxiously, that gradually softened his feelings; but there is no doubt that, to Kate’s surprise, he one day told her to get him pen, ink and paper, and to draw the table in front of him, as he was going to write a letter. And it must be confessed, that Kate’s color heightened, and her heart beat fast when he had finished the letter, directed it to Mr. Edward Somers, and then asked if she knew the address of Somers, which of course she did; although she hesitated and stammered as if it were a profound secret, and the answer the most difficult thing in the world.

But her surprise was scarcely greater than that of Ned himself, when a boy came to him with a letter which ran thus:

‘My dear Edward: Come to me as soon as you can; I wish to see you on a matter of much importance to both of us.

Yours truly,
Jacob Rhoneland.’

Ned felt something bouncing about in a very queer manner directly under his ribs, as he read this note; but the sensation was not so painful as to prevent his obeying it with a speed that was perfectly marvellous; for to Rhoneland it seemed that the letter could scarcely have reached its destination before Ned was back with it in his hand.

‘You got my note,’ said he gravely, as Somers entered, his face flushed with the rapidity with which he had come.

‘I have.’

‘Don’t go, Kate,’ said he to his daughter, who with an inkling of what was to follow, was stealing away. ‘What I have to say relates to both of you.’

‘Some time since,’ said he, rising, and standing in front of Ned, ‘I wronged you, by making charges against you which I am now convinced were false. My mind was poisoned by one who has gone to his long account, and whose evil deeds may sleep with him. For this,’ said he, extending his hand, ‘I ask your pardon; much more frankly and freely than I did on the day when we met at Mr. Harson’s.’

Ned took the proffered hand; at the same time pouring out a confusion of words, the sum and substance of which was intended to be, that he had taken no offence; that he knew Jacob was misled by others; that he was not only perfectly willing, but very happy, to make up the matter, and say no more about it; which no doubt was very true, for within six feet of him stood Kate, with her soft eyes fixed on his face, and her little mouth dimpled with smiles, as she observed how swimmingly matters were going on. And could he be crusty and dogged? or could he cherish a grudge against her father? The thing was impossible. The extended hand was grasped, and grasped warmly.