Catherine smiled, but a heavy sigh escaped from her breast: she found it hard to bear the indifference and inconsideration with which her little sister lived, and it seemed to her that she bore the pain of loss not only for herself, but also for Cassie.

– What colour was the bunny? – Christine asked, seeing Catherine's confusion.

– He was so dark, and his ears were really funny and long," Cassie said. – And the boys made up a song! Here it is: "The bunny raced across the field, the bunny ran home, and then the dog ran after him, a mean dog, a biter, and then… Oh, I forgot. – She was embarrassed and stopped talking.

Catherine stroked her head.

– And I tore my dress yesterday," she giggled.

– Again? – Christine asked unhappily, but she couldn't really be angry with her sister.

– It was an accident. Just don't tell Daddy, or he'll be upset," Cassie asked with a sweet, childish expression, not wanting to upset her father.

Christine and Catherine immediately felt tears gathering in their chests.

– He won't scold, Cassie, but we won't tell him anything if you want," Christine replied quietly.

Catherine couldn't hold back the tears that came to her eyes and threatened to flow in front of Cassie, so she got up from the table and went to the door.

– Where are you going? – Christine asked her, afraid to be alone with her younger sister, because she didn't know how to behave or what to say.

– I'm going to get some water! – Kate replied and hurried out of the house.

Christine realised she had lied but said nothing.

– Eat, Cassie, and then you can go out," she said.

Cassie brightened and eagerly began to eat her porridge.

That same evening Mr. Pilough, as promised, wrote to Lord Draymore about the parson's tragedy, but because the Count was in another town, the envelope with the letter was not opened. In spite of this circumstance, however, the parson's death was nevertheless known: Mr. Pilough, who had become firm friends with Mr. Morris within two months, wrote to him as well. The letter reached London in a short time, in a day and a half from the time the architect hurriedly sent it from Rivershold. Having received and read the letter at noon, Dr Morris was filled with genuine sadness and horror, and hastened to Viscount Wilworth's house. On reaching the Viscount's mansion, Mr. Morris was without delay admitted to the master of the house himself.

– Mr. Morris! You are just in time for lunch," said the Viscount, delighted at his visit.

– Thank you, sir, but I am not hungry. I am afraid I bring you very sad news! – Mr. Morris replied with a slight bow.

– Please, sit down. – Viscount Wilworth pointed to an empty chair by a table laden with porcelain plates of dainty treats: the Viscount liked to have his lunches outdoors, on one of the balconies of his mansion. – What is this sad news?

– Alas, sir, the news is not merely sad, it is terrible: I received a letter from Mr. Pilough today. Perhaps you remember him? The Count of Draymore left it in the village during the restoration.

– Yes, I remember him. An architect from London.

– Well, sir, he informed me of the tragic death of Pastor Glowford the other day.

This news struck the Viscount to the very heart: it even trembled with horror, and the whole being of the young nobleman was in a great agitation.

– It is terrible news! There are no words to express how much I am struck by it! – exclaimed the Viscount, immediately placing the cup of tea he held in his hand on the table. – But how is it possible? How could this misfortune have happened?