whether to his pleasures or his studies, suffered the objects of his
inquiries to pass from his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Morton, for by that name we must still call her, and her
children, were settled in a small lodging in a humble suburb; situated on
the high road between Fernside and the metropolis. She saved from her
hopeless law-suit, after the sale of her jewels and ornaments, a
sufficient sum to enable her, with economy, to live respectably for a
year or two at least, during which time she might arrange her plans for
the future. She reckoned, as a sure resource, upon the assistance of her
relations; but it was one to which she applied with natural shame and
reluctance. She had kept up a correspondence with her father during his
life. To him, she never revealed the secret of her marriage, though she
did not write like a person conscious of error. Perhaps, as she always
said to her son, she had made to her husband a solemn promise never to
divulge or even hint that secret until he himself should authorise its
disclosure. For neither he nor Catherine ever contemplated separation or
death. Alas! how all of us, when happy, sleep secure in the dark
shadows, which ought to warn us of the sorrows that are to come! Still
Catherine's father, a man of coarse mind and not rigid principles, did
not take much to heart that connection which he assumed to be illicit.
She was provided for, that was some comfort: doubtless Mr. Beaufort would
act like a gentleman, perhaps at last make her an honest woman and a
lady. Meanwhile, she had a fine house, and a fine carriage, and fine
servants; and so far from applying to him for money, was constantly
sending him little presents. But Catherine only saw, in his permission
of her correspondence, kind, forgiving, and trustful affection, and she
loved him tenderly: when he died, the link that bound her to her family
was broken. Her brother succeeded to the trade; a man of probity and
honour, but somewhat hard and unamiable. In the only letter she had