Mrs. Baker will be annoyed, you needn't, because I don't intend she shall know anything. about it. I'll leave the window open, so that we can get in at it, and we can take off our boots before going upstairs, that she mayn't hear us."

66

But, Catherine, you know how very particular Mr. Verney is that all the windows should be fastened and barred across as soon as it is dusk."

He

"Who cares for his particularity? won't find out that it was left open unless somebody comes in and shoots him, and then he can't say anything to me. Do you know why he's so anxious about having the windows barred? Because he's afraid of being shot; he's such a cruel tyrant, and makes himself so hated by everybody. Cecil doesn't bar his windows."

I was very much shocked at the way she spoke, but feeling that it would be useless to reprove her as I knew that what she said was only too true—I merely insisted that the window should not be left open during our absence, and we set out.

The walk was a breezy one, indeed. The wind, unstayed by tree or shrub, swept across the moor with tremendous fury. We had to fight for every step we took. Catherine

seemed to enjoy the conflict.

"Isn't it delightful, Cecil?" she panted, clinging to his arm.

Cecil agreed that it was delightful.

66

"You are the child of storm, Cathy," he said that was his pet name for her. have heard that there was a terrible storm the night you were born, such as had not been known for years, and has never occurred

VOL. I.

M

since. I think you are a gift from the god of

"What would you do if some day the god of storms wanted his gift back, and carried me off in a gust of whirlwind?" said Catherine.

Cecil did not know, could not imagine what he would do.

"I know what I would do if you were spirited away!" she said.

"What would you do, Cathy ?"

"Get some one else. But there is Weston Abbey."

A sudden turning had brought us full in view of the noble old ruin. Very picturesque it looked by the uncertain moonlight, one minute standing out clear and bold against the barren mountains, every pinnacle and every arch bathed in the silver radiance-the next, shrouded in deepest gloom. Catherine

darted forward, and sprang up the ruined stairs which led on to the roof.

"I'll be back in two seconds," she called. "You needn't come up, as I know Grace is in a fever till we get home."

In a moment she appeared on the top, leaning over the parapet, and holding it to maintain her ground against the strong wind, whose power must have been fearful in that elevated position. She stood there but for a moment; to remain longer would have been impossible. Lightly kissing her hand-with an action which reminded me of the day that she had galloped away so wildly-she disappeared. We expected to see her almost instantly on the stairs, but the minutes went by, and she did not appear.

"She must be Abbey," said Cecil. in for her?"

lingering about in the

"Had we not better go

We went in, but she was nowhere to be seen. In vain we wandered up and down the long aisles, and among the broken arches, calling her name; the echoes only answered. The moon had become permanently clouded over; the darkness of the place was intense. Catherine might have been within an arm's length of us, and we could not have discovered her if she chose to remain silent.

"Let us go back to Verney Court," said Cecil, at last. "She will probably become frightened, and follow us. If not, I must get torches, and return with Donal to continue the search."

I gladly assented to his proposal. I felt cold as ice, and was shivering all over.

"She must be hiding somewhere in the Abbey," continued Cecil, as we left it; "has, most likely, been listening the whole time we