"But you will not run away too soon?" asked Kate.
"No, we shall remain three or four weeks in London."
"I am rejoiced to hear it," said the Colonel.
"We will talk over our plans to-morrow," said Winter, to-night, let us hear of your own proceedings. How do you like my friend Langley?"
"Oh, I like him very much," returned Kate, "I am sure there is much good in him, though he won't show it, and seems so cold and cautious even with himself, that I dare not take it upon myself to say he will be glad to see even you."
"Well, I can tell you he writes enthusiastically of you," replied Winter.
And so the conversation flowed on in a thousand interrogative channels, all indicative of the same warm and friendly interest, which, still unabated, linked the _quartette_. Oh, how much more closely than the ties of blood.
Winter, in obedience to a warning glance from Kate, reserved his questionings, as to her success in teaching, for a _tête-à-tête_, and his good little wife followed his example on this, as on all other subjects. The poor organist's deathbed was re-described, and the "grand following," as Mrs. O'Toole would term it, that graced his funeral, discussed, and, in spite of the, to them, unaccustomed fatigue of a journey, the interchange of intelligence was prolonged to a late hour for travellers, and when they parted for the night, Kate felt her own hopeful joyous self again; to think that such true and tried friends were near, that she should meet them in the morning, and once more be able to pour out the fears and anxieties which no want of confidence in her grandfather, but a tenderness of affection too considerate to grieve him, kept pent up within her own bosom, till their weight oppressed her. Once more she would take counsel of that clear, strong, warm-heart, which no self-interest, no conventional falsity clouded or obscured. "And though their stay is but short," was her concluding thought, as sleep closed her snowy lids, with its downy weight, "thank God they _are_ come, I will enjoy their presence, and not think of the sorrow of parting, until it comes."
But a young spirit must be somewhat initiated in grief, before it can attain this philosophy, if it ever can be attained, for however the heart may purpose to enjoy the present, and disregard the future, there is still something of omnipresence in its nature, that gives an actuality to anticipated joy or sorrow, it cannot wile away.