Katherine said nothing of all this to Miles; she wanted to speak to Jervis about it first, for, of course, it might be only part of an old letter that he had lost, and of no importance at all to anyone else.  If this were proved to be the case she would be greatly relieved.  A whole host of misgivings had arisen in her heart on reading the words:  “You may be sent for now at any time”.  If Jervis were to go away, what a blank it would make in her life!  Of course he would come back again, but the dreary months of his absence would be very hard to live through.

She did not see Jervis that day until evening.  He came in as usual when night school was over.  Then all the family were gathered in the one sitting-room the house contained, which left little chance for private conversation of any kind; the boys went away to bed after a time, taking their father with them, and then Mrs. Burton went to put her little girls to bed, and the lovers were alone for the brief half-hour which was all the time they could get for uninterrupted talk on most days.  Then Katherine produced the fragment, stated how she had discovered it, and asked a little shyly if it were part of an old letter, or a bit of one he had never received.

“I have never had it, of that I am quite certain,” he said, with a very grave look on his face.

“Then who is ill?  Is it one of your brothers?” she asked, with a painful throb at her heart; for something in his looks and his expression made her certain that if the summons came he would have to go.

“No, George and Fred are hard as nails; nothing is likely to ail them, nor would their illness necessitate my going home.  I expect it is Cousin Samuel who is ill,” Jervis answered, with a curious hesitancy of manner and a sort of constraint which made Katherine’s heart heavy as lead, although she held her head high and looked prouder than ever.

“What will you do?” she asked, and her tone was breathless, despite her efforts to make her voice have merely a casual sound.

“If Cousin Samuel dies I shall have to go to England, I suppose.  He is the well-to-do member of our family, and his death would mean business affairs to look after,” Jervis answered, as he surveyed the scrap of paper, turning it over and over, as if to see if there were anything on it that might have been missed.

“Is he your cousin or your father’s?” she asked.  “Neither; he is my grandfather’s first cousin, a hard, cruel old man, with not an ounce of charity, nor even ordinary kind-heartedness, in his whole composition,” Jervis answered in a hard tone.  “I asked his help for my mother when she was left a widow, but he turned a deaf ear to the plea, and left her to struggle on, to sink or swim as best she could.”

“I see,” said Katherine, and now it was her voice which was constrained.  Then she asked timidly:  “If you go to England, when will you have to start?”

“That will depend upon you; for of course I am not going to England to leave you behind, that goes without saying,” he answered, in a masterful tone that set her heart throbbing wildly, only now it was joy, and not sorrow, that caused the emotion.  “I must see what I can do about getting a minister up here to marry us,” he went on; “then we should be ready to start directly the waters are open, if need should arise.”