"
In all these years Catherine had had time to forget how little she
had to thank her aunt for in the season of her misery; she had long
ago forgiven Mrs. Penniman for taking too much upon herself. But for
a moment this attitude of interposition and disinterestedness, this
carrying of messages and redeeming of promises, brought back the
sense that her companion was a dangerous woman. She had said she
would not be angry; but for an instant she felt sore. "I don't care
what you do with your promise!" she answered.
Mrs. Penniman, however, with her high conception of the sanctity of
pledges, carried her point. "I have gone too far to retreat," she
said, though precisely what this meant she was not at pains to
explain. "Mr. Townsend wishes most particularly to see you,
Catherine; he believes that if you knew how much, and why, he wishes
it, you would consent to do so."
"There can be no reason," said Catherine; "no good reason."
"His happiness depends upon it. Is not that a good reason?" asked
Mrs. Penniman impressively.
"Not for me. My happiness does not."
"I think you will be happier after you have seen him. He is going
away again--going to resume his wanderings. It is a very lonely,
restless, joyless life. Before he goes he wishes to speak to you; it
is a fixed idea with him--he is always thinking of it. He has
something very important to say to you.
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