"Countess of Caergwent," she repeated; "that's not so pretty as if I
were Lady Katharine."

"The sound does not matter much," said Mary. "You will always be
Katharine to those that love you best. And oh!--" Mary stopped
short, her eyes full of tears.

Kate looked up at her, astonished. "Are you sorry, Mary?" she asked,
a little hurt.

"We are all sorry to lose our little Kate," said Mr. Wardour.

"Lose me, Papa!" cried Kate, clinging to him, as the children
scarcely ever did, for he seldom made many caresses; "Oh no, never!
Doesn't Caergwent Castle belong to me? Then you must all come and
live with me there; and you shall have lots of big books, Papa; and
we will have a pony-carriage for Mary, and ponies for Sylvia and
Charlie and me, and--"

Kate either ran herself down, or saw that the melancholy look on Mr.
Wardour's face rather deepened than lessened, for she stopped short.

"My dear," he said, "you and I have both other duties."

"Oh," but if I built a church! I dare say there are people at
Caergwent as poor as they are here. Couldn't we build a church, and
you mind them, Papa?"

"My little Katharine, you have yet to understand that 'the heir, so
long as he is a child, differeth in nothing from a servant, but is