“We are goin’ home wif ‘ Tabby an’ her kit’ns, sir.”

Georgiana nodded, still at a loss as to how to explain what was before him. The Colonel bent down and opened his arms to Betsey, and unhesitatingly, she allowed him to lift her up to carry her. Betsey was now near the bundle of Tabby and her kittens, and began speaking to the sack, informing them at length of what had just been told to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Georgiana thought momentarily of her own solitary childhood, and understood the constancy an animal provided in conversation, companionship—and love—and knew that the hours spent in mutual, confidential sympathy with her Tabby was no small portion of whatever little peace and happiness had formed Betsey’s days and nights. Comparing also the blessings of her own childhood against the unspeakable misery of Betsey’s short life, Georgiana became once again mistress of her thoughts, and her determination.

The Colonel rose up and, as he did so, noticed Georgiana’s new locket, and momentarily imagined it to contain a portrait of the Comte. Reminding himself of his hopes formed upon Elizabeth’s history, he was determined to have a resolution for his suspense at last, and was about to continue speaking, when Georgiana, seeing his anxiety, forgot her own confusion and lapsed without thinking into her comfortable rôle as his ever-reliable anodyne, enquiring gently, “I understood your father to be well, or I would have called in this morning. And is…?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted her quite abruptly, “My father? Oh, yes, he is as well as we could expect under these circumstances, thank God! Yes, yes—she is with us, and she is an angel. I could not imagine a more useful, gentle woman—and, so careful of my father’s feelings. She grows in my estimation every day. We are truly blessed to have such a woman belong to us. I cannot say that I am proud that it has taken the present calamity to make me realise the extent of our fortune in securing her to our family, but I say it now, and with more conviction and gratitude than I have in better days.”

“Oh!” cried Georgiana, her wounded heart so stricken with the injury of what must necessarily follow, that she believed she was in danger of actually being unable to support herself. Fitzwilliam noticed her sudden loss of colour and led her to a near banquette in the church-yard that would do for three. He set Betsey down and relieved Georgiana of her burthen, placing them gently near the seat. “Here is Tabby, Betsey. I think she needs for you to tell her again where you are going and make sure she knows that her kittens will be safe—and that she will soon have her supper.”