Bertram
of Catherine's knowledge. Its expression now betokened a kind of inward
scare or fright.
"Mother, you have something to worry you," said Kate, "I see that by
your face. I am sorry. I am truly sorry. Sit down, mother. What can I do
for you?"
"Nothing, my dear, except to be an attentive daughter--attentive and
affectionate and obedient. Sometimes, Catherine, you are not that."
"Oh, never mind now, when you are in trouble, I'd do anything in the
world for you when you are in trouble. You know that."
Mrs. Bertram had seated herself. Catherine knelt now, and took one of
her mother's hands between her own. Insensibly the cold hand was
comforted by the warm steadfast clasp.
"You are a good child, Kate," said her mother in an unwonted and gentle
voice. "You are full of whims and fancies; but when you like you can be
a great support to one. Do you remember long ago when your father died
how only little Kitty's hand could cure mother's headaches?"
"I would cure your heartache now."
"You can't, child, you can't. And besides, who said anything about a
heartache? We have no time, Kate, to talk any more sentimentalities. I
have had a letter, my dear, and it obliges me to go to town to-night."
"To-night? Surely there is no train?"
"There is.
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