"Good Lord! a hundred pounds for trashy scribblings."
"They are not trash, sir," returned Katherine, with spirit.
"And what sum do you want on this first-class security?" he asked.
"Oh, thirty or forty pounds!" she said, her heart beating with wild anxiety.
"Thirty pounds! Why, that is a fortune!"
"It would be to us," said Katherine, fighting bravely against a desperate inclination to cry.
"And all you have to offer in exchange is a mortgage on an unpublished novel?"
"We have nothing in the world but the furniture," she replied, with a slight sob.
"Furniture!" repeated Mr. Liddell, sharply. "How much?—how many rooms have you?"
"A drawing-room and dining-room, my mother's study, and four bedrooms, besides—"
"Well!" exclaimed Liddell, interrupting her, "you'll have a hundred pounds' worth in it, and I dare say it cost you two. Now you have shown you have some knowledge of the value of money, and you have served me well at this uncomfortable crisis. I'll tell you what I will do; I'll write to my solicitor to go and see you, at the address you have told me, to-morrow. He shall find out if you are speaking the truth, and look at your goods and chattels. If he reports favorably I will do something for you, on the security of the furniture. You haven't given a bill of sale to any one else, I suppose?"
"A bill of sale?—I do not know what you mean."
"Ah! perhaps not." He rose and hobbled to his writing-table, where he began to write. "What's your address?" he asked. Katherine told him. Presently he finished and turned to her. "Put this in the post. Look at it. Mr. Newton, my solicitor, will take it with him when he calls, to-morrow or next day. No!" suddenly. "I will send the girl with it to the pillar, and you shall stay till she returns. You may or you may not be honest; but I will never trust any one again."
"As you like," returned Katherine, overjoyed not to be utterly refused. "And before I go, do let me try and find some one to be with you. It is dreadful to think of your being alone in this large house with only that poor little girl! and she is inclined to run away! I think her mother is coming here; let me stay till she comes."
"I don't want any one," said the old man, fiercely. "I am hale and strong; the child can do all I want. You got some food for her I see. The strength of that meat will last till to-morrow. Then you must come to hear what I decide, and you can do what I want,ifyouaremy niece!"
"Do—do let me find some one to stay with you! I cannot bear to think of your being alone." The old man stared at her curiously, and a sort of mocking smile parted his lips. "May I at leastask Susan if her mother can come? for I am sure the girl will not stay alone."
"Very well," he said; "but be sure you do not promise her money! Shemaycome here to keep the child company—not for my sake."
Katherine hastened to question Susan, and found that her mother, a char-woman, lived near. She despatched the little girl to fetch her, and, after some parleying, agreed to give her half a crown if she would remain for the night, determining to pay it herself rather than mention the subject to the ogre upstairs. Then she put her hat straight and resumed her gloves. "I must bid you good-morning now," she said. "This mother of Susan's looks a respectable woman, and will not ask you for any money. Will you not let me get you some tea and sugar before I go, and something for—"
"No!" cried the old man. "I have some tea. It is all that——robber left behind her. I want nothing more. Mind you come back to-morrow. If you are my brother's daughter (though it is no recommendation!) I'll do something for you. If you arenot, I'd—I'd like to give you a piece of my mind." He laughed a fiendish, spiteful laugh as he said this.
"Then accept my thanks beforehand," said Katherine smiling a little wearily.
She was very tired. It was an oppressive day, and she had been under a mental strain of no small severity. Now she was longing to be at home to tell her mother all her strange adventures, and she had yet to find out by what route she should return.
Once more she said good-by. Mr. Liddell followed her to the door, with an air of seeing her safe off the premises, rather than of courtesy, and Katherine quickly retraced her steps to the place where she had alighted, hoping to find that universal referee, a policeman, who would no doubt set her on her homeward way.
While her young sister-in-law was thus seeking fortune in strange places, Mrs. Fred Liddell was spending a busy and, it must be confessed, a cheerful morning, preparing for the anticipated visit of Colonel Ormonde.
It was rather inconsiderate, she thought, of Katherine to go out and leave all the extra dusting of the drawing-room to her. If she, Katherine, had remained at home she would have taken the boys, as she always did, and then Jane, the house and children's maid, would have been able to help.
If Katherine would only stay out all day she could forgive her—but she would be sure to come in for dinner, and so appear at afternoon tea, which by no means suited Mrs. F. Liddell's views.
The Colonel had given so very highly colored a description of theyoung lady who was with the little boy so nearly run over on the previous morning that the pretty widow's jealousy was aroused.
In spite of her flightiness and love of pleasure she had a very keen sense of her own interest, and perceiving Colonel Ormonde's decided appreciation, she had made up her mind to marry him.
This, she felt, would be more easily designed than accomplished. Colonel Ormonde was an old soldier in every sense, and an old bachelor to boot, with an epicurean taste for good dinners and pretty women. He might sacrifice something for the first, but the latter were too plentiful and too come-at-able to be worth great cost. Still, it was generally believed he was matrimonially inclined, and Mrs. Fred thought she might have as good a chance as any one else, had she not been hampered with her two boys.
It would be too dreadful if Ormonde's fancy were caught by Katherine's bold eyes and big figure. So Mrs. Fred wished that her sister-in-law might not put in an appearance.
"She is not a bit like other girls," thought the little woman, as she finally shook the duster out of the open window and set herself to distribute the flowers she had bought the previous evening to the best advantage. "She has no dear friends, no acquaintances with whom she likes to stop and chatter; she never stays out, and I don't think she ever had the ghost of a lover. WhenIwas her age I had had a dozen, and I was married. Poor Fred! Heigho! I wish he had left me a little money, and I am sure I should never dream of giving him a successor. But for the sake of the dear boys I should never think of marrying! How cruel it is to be so poor, and to be with such unenterprising people! If Mrs. Liddell would only venture to make an appearance, and just risk a little, she might dispose of Kate and of me too. Therearemen who might admire Kate, and there they go on screwing and scribbling. I wish my mother-in-law would write for some big magazine—BlackwoodorTemple Bar—or not write at all! That will do, I think. That is the only strong arm-chair in the house; it will stand nicely beside the sofa. Oh, have you come in already, children?"—as the two boys peeped in. "Couldn't Jane have kept you out a little longer! Don't attempt to come in here!"
"Jane had to come back to lay the cloth. Mamma, where is aunty?"
"She has not come in yet. Why, dear me, it is nearly one o'clock! Go and get off your boots, my darlings, and ask grandmamma when she expects aunty."
Mrs. Liddell did not know when Katherine might return, and, moreover, she was getting uneasy. She did not like to say much about her errand, for she knew her daughter-in-law thought but indifferently of her writings, and with an indescribable "crass" dislike of what she could not do herself, would have been rather pleased than otherwise to know that a manuscript had been rejected.
In looking over one of the drawers in her writing-table Mrs. Liddell had found that Katherine had left the shorter story behind. This rendered her prolonged absence less accountable, for she could have interviewed several publishers of three-volume novels in thetime. The poor lady naturally feared that they must have refused even to look at her work, or Katherine would have returned.
When dinner was over, and four o'clock came, Mrs. Liddell's anxiety rose high; she could not bear her daughter-in-law's presence, and retired into her own den.
"Won't you stay and see Colonel Ormonde? He used to be quite friendly with poor Fred in India, and I should like him to see what a nice handsome mamma-in-law I have," said Mrs. Fred, caressingly: she rather liked her mother-in-law, and felt it was as well to be on affectionate terms with her.
"No, my dear; my head is not quite free from pain, and I want to give Katherine something to eat when she comes in; she will be very hungry. Then I can see that the children do not get into any mischief in the garden."
The younger lady then went to pose herself with a dainty piece of fancy-work in the drawing-room, and the elder to sit at her writing-table, pen in hand, but not writing; only thinking round and round the circle of difficulties which hedged her in, and longing for the sight of her daughter's face.
At last it beamed upon her through the open door-window which led out on the stairway to the garden; her approach had been seen by her little nephews, who had admitted her through the back gate.
"You must not come in now, dears; I want to talk to grannie. If you keep away I will tell you a nice story in the evening."
"My dearest child, what has kept you? I have been uneasy; and how dreadfully tired you look!"
"I am tired, but that is nothing. I think, dear, I have a little good news for you."
"Come into the dining-room. I have some dinner for you, and we can talk quietly. Ada is expecting a visitor."
But Katherine could not eat until she told her adventures. First she described her interview with Mr. Channing.
"It is something certainly to have left my unfortunate MS. in his hands; still I dare not hope much from that," said Mrs. Liddell.
"Then, mother dear," resumed Katherine, "I ventured to do something for which I hope you will not be angry with me—I have found John Liddell! I have invaded his den; I have spoken to him; I have cooked a chop for him, as I used for you last winter; and though I have been sent empty away, I am not without hopes that he will help us out of our difficulties."
"Katie, dear, whathaveyou done?" cried her mother, aghast. "How did you manage—how did you dare?" Whereupon Katherine gave her mother a graphic account of the whole affair.
"It is a wonderful history," said Mrs. Liddell. "I feel half frightened; yet if Mr. Liddell's solicitor is an honest, respectable man, he will surely be on our side; at the same time, I am half afraid of falling into John Liddell's clutches. He has the character of being a relentless creditor: he will have his pound of flesh! If he gives this money as a loan, and I fail in paying the interest, he will take me by the throat as he would the greatest stranger."
"Why should you fail?" cried Katherine. "You only want time to succeed. I am sure you will sell your books, and then we canpay principal and interest; besides, old Mr. Liddell couldnottreat his brother's widow as he would a stranger."
"I am not so sure."
"And you are not angry with me for going to him?"
"No, dear love; I am proud of your courage. Had I known what you intended, I should have forbidden you. I should never have allowed you to run the risk of being insulted: it was too much for you. I wish I could shield you from all such trials, my Kate; but I cannot—I cannot." The unwonted tears stood in her kind, faded eyes.
"Ah, mother,youhave borne the burden and heat of the day long enough alone; I must take my share now, and I assure you, after my adventures to-day, I feel quite equal to do so. I have been too long a heedless idler; I want to be a real help to you now. Do you think I have done any good?"
"Yes, certainly! but everything depends on this man who is coming to-morrow. Your poor father used to know Mr. Liddell's solicitor, and I think liked him; of course he may have a different one now. Still it is a gleam of hope; which is doubly sweet becauseyoubrought it."
Katherine hastily pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, and choked down the sob that would swell her throat. She was dreadfully tired, physically and mentally.
"Ada asked me for that money this morning as soon as you were gone. I told her I could not return it for a while, and she did not look pleased, naturally enough."
"I think she is very selfish," said Katherine.
"No, dear, only thoughtless, and younger than her years. She is always nice with me, and would be with you if you had more patience. You must remember that no character is stronger than its weakest part, and hers is—"
"Self," put in Katherine.
"No! love of admiration and pleasure," added her mother.
"Well," returned Katherine, good-humoredly, "they both are very nice."
Here the person under discussion came hastily into the room, in the crispest of lilac and white muslins, with a black sash and bows, and a rose at her waist, looking as fresh as if the heaviest atmosphere could not touch her.
"Oh, you have arrived, Katherine! I wish you would come and see Colonel Ormonde. He wants so much to speak to you!"
"But I do not want to speak to him. I don't want to see any one."
"Do come, Katie! I assure you you have made quite an impression; come and deepen it," cried Mrs. Frederic, with a persuasive smile, while she thought, "She is looking awfully bad and pale, and Katherine without color is nowhere; her eyes are red too.—Come, like a dear," she persisted, aloud, "unless you want to go up and beautify."
"No, I certainly do not," said Katherine, rising impatiently. "I will go with you for a minute or two, but I am too tired to talk."
"Your hair is in utter disorder," remarked her mother.
"It is no matter," returned Katherine, following her sister-in-law out of the room.
Her dress was by no means becoming. It was of thin black material, the remains of her last year's mourning; the white frill at her throat was crushed by the friction of her jacket, and some splashes on the skirt gave her a travel-stained aspect. But no disorder could hide the fine warm bronze brown of her abundant hair, nor disguise the shape of her brows and eyes, though the eyes themselves lost something of their color from the paleness of her cheeks; nor did her weariness detract from the charm of her delicate upturned chin.
"Here is my naughty sister-in-law, who has been wandering about all the morning alone, and making us quite uneasy."
"What! In search of further adventures—eh?" asked Colonel Ormonde, rising and making an elaborate bow. He spoke in a tone half paternal, half gallant, in right of which elderly gentlemen sometimes take liberties.
"I went to do a commission for my mother," said Katherine, indifferently.
"Ah! if we had a corps of suchcommissionnairesas you are, we should spend our lives sending and receiving messages," returned the Colonel, with a laugh. He spoke in short authoritative sentences, with a loud harsh voice, and in what might be termed the "big bow-wow" style.
"You must not believe all Colonel Ormonde says," observed the fair widow, smiling and slightly shaking her head. "He is a very faithless man."
"By George! Mrs. Liddell, I don't deserve such a character fromyou. But"—addressing Katherine, who had simply looked at him with quiet, contemplative eyes—"I hope you have recovered from your fright of yesterday. I never saw eyes or cheeks express terror so eloquently."
"Yes, I was dreadfully frightened, and very, very grateful to the gentleman who saved poor Cecil. I hope he was not hurt?"
"Shall I tell him to come and report himself in person?"
"No, thank you."
"Wouldn't you like to thank him again? It might be a pleasant process to both parties—eh?"
Katherine smiled good-humoredly, while she thought, "What an idiot!"
"Katherine is a very serious young woman," said Mrs. Frederic—"quite too awfully in earnest; is always striving painfully to do her duty. She despises frivolities and never dreams of flirtation."
"This is an appalling description," said Ormonde. "Pray is it on principle you renounce flirtation?"
"For a much better reason," replied Katherine, wearily. "Because I have no one to flirt with."
"By Jove! there's a state of destitution! Why, it is a blot on society that you should be left lamenting."
"Yes; is it not melancholy?" replied Katherine, carelessly. "Ada, I am so tired I am sure you will excuse me if I go away to rest?"
"Before you go," said Ormonde, eagerly, "I have a request to make. A chum of mine, Sir James Brereton, and myself are goingup the river on Thursday, with some friends of Mrs. Liddell's—a picnic affair. Your sister-in-law has promised to honor me with her company, and I earnestly hopeyouwill accompany her. I promise you shall be induced to rescind your anti-flirtation resolutions."
"Up the river?" repeated Katherine, with a wistful look, and paused. "On Thursday next? Thank you very much, but I'm engaged—quite particularly engaged."
"Nonsense, Katie!" cried her sister-in-law. "Where in the world are you going? You know you never have an engagement anywhere."
"Come, Miss Liddell, do not be cruel. We will have a very jolly day, and I'll try and persuade your hero of yesterday to meet you."
"I should like to go very much, but I really cannot. I thank you for thinking of me." She stood up, and, with a slight bow, said, "Good-morning," leaving the room before the stout Colonel could reach the door to open it.
"Phew! that was sharp, short, and decisive," said Ormonde.
"Yes, wasn't it? She is quite a character. Leave her to me if you wish her to go. I will manage it."
"Yes, do. She is something fresh, though she is not so handsome as I thought. I suspect there is a strong dash of the devil in her."
"I cannot sayIhave seen much of it," said the young widow, frankly. She was extremely shrewd in a small way, and had adopted an air of candid good-nature as best suited to her style and complexion. "Handsome or not, if you would like to have her at your party, I will try to persuade her to come."
"Thanks. What a little brick you are!" said Ormonde, admiringly. "No nonsense with you, or trying to keep a pretty girl out of it. I say, Mrs. Liddell, it must be an awful life for you, shut up in this stuffy suburban box?"
"Well, it is not cheerful; but I have no choice, so I just make the best of it," she returned, with as bright a smile as she could muster. "No use spoiling one's eyes or one's temper over the inevitable. Then I am really fond of my mother-in-law, poor soul! She would spoil me if she had the means; and Katherine—well, she isn't bad."
"By George! if you make your mother-in-law fond of you, you must be an angel incarnate."
"An angel!" echoed the little lady. "That would never do. No, no; it is because I am so desperately human I get on with them all."
"Delightfully human, you mean. No house could be dull with you in it. There's nothing like pluck and good-humor in a woman."
"Well, Heaven knows I want both!"
"I am afraid I must be off," said the Colonel. "I am going to dine with Eversley, and he has a villa at Rochampton—quite a journey, you know. Where is the little chap that was nearly run over?"
"Playing in the garden, very happy and very dirty. I dare not have him in—he always climbs up and hangs about me, for I have my best dress on!"—the last words in large capitals.
"A deuced becoming dress too; but it's not so fine as what you had on yesterday."
"No, of Course not; there are degrees of best dress. Yesterday's was myverybest go-to-luncheon dress, and must last me a whole year."
"A year! By Jove! And you always look well dressed! You are a wonderful woman! Now I must be off. Mrs. Burnett says she will send the carriage for you on Thursday. We drive down to Twickenham."
"Oh, thank you, Colonel Ormonde! I am sure I am indebted to you for that lift," said Mrs. Frederic, while she thought, "He might have driven me down himself."
"Au revoir, then. Always hard to tear myself away from such a charming little witch as you are."
Ormonde kissed her hand and departed.
"Jolly, plucky little woman," he thought, as he walked toward the Bayswater Road, looking for a hansom. "Just the sort to save a man trouble, and get full value out of a sovereign." He continued to muse on the wonderful discovery he had made of a woman perfectly planned, according to man's ideal—sweet, yielding, tenderly sympathetic, willing and capable to ward off all annoyances from her master, full of feeling forhistroubles, and not to be moved by her own to sad looks, unbecoming tears, or downcast spirits—all softness to him, all bristling sharpness to the rest of the world. "Such a woman would answer my purpose as well as a woman with money, and she is an uncommonly tempting morsel. But then those infernal boys! I am not going to provide for another fellow's brats, and they can't have more than sixty pounds between them from the fund! No; I must not make an ass of myself, even for a pretty, clever woman, who has rather a hankering for myself, or I am much mistaken. That sister-in-law of hers is the making of an uncommon fine woman. There's a dash of a tragedy queen about her, but it will be good fun to play her against the widow."
And the widow, as she rang for the house-maid to remove the tea-things, indulged in a few speculations on her side. "He was evidently disappointed with Katherine. I am not surprised. She is looking ill, and she hassuchungracious manners! Of course she will come to this Richmond party when I ask her, and I must ask her. Ormonde is a good deal smitten with me, but he'll not lose his head. It is an awful thing to be poor and to have two boys. Oh, how dreadful it is to live in this horrible dull hole! I wonder if Colonel Ormonde will ever propose for me! He is very nice and pleasant, but he is awfully selfish. I hate selfishness. Perhaps if Mrs. Liddell would undertake to keep the little boys altogether it might make matters easier. Poor children! if I were only rich I would never wish to part with them; but who can hold out against poverty?"
The night which followed was sleepless to Mrs. Liddell. How could she close her eyes when so much depended on the visit she hoped to receive to-morrow? If this agent of John Liddell's was propitious, she might get breathing-time and be able to wait till her manuscript brought forth some fruit; if not—well she dared not think of the reverse. She listened to the soft, regular breathing of her daughter, who was wrapped in refreshing slumber, and thanked God for the quick forgetfulness of youth. It was like a fresh draught of life and hope tothink of her courage and perseverance in finding out and affronting her miserly uncle. Good must come of it.
Day dawned bright and clear, and the little party met as usual at breakfast. Neither mother nor daughter had breathed a word of their hopes or fears to the pretty widow. Breakfast over, they all dispersed to their usual avocations. Katherine, downstairs, was consulting cook, and Mrs. Liddell was wearily sorting and tearing up papers, when the servant came into the study and said, "Please, 'm, there's a gentleman wanting you.'
"Where have you put him?" asked Mrs. Liddell, glancing at the card presented to her, on which was printed, "Mr. C. B. Newton, 26 Manchester Buildings."
"He is by the door, 'm."
"Oh, show him into the dining-room. Where is Mrs. Frederic?"
"Gone out, 'm."
"I will come directly," and Mrs. Liddell hastily locked a drawer and put a weight on her papers; "Tell Miss Liddell to come to me," she said as she passed.
A short, thick-set man of more than middle age, slightly bald, with an upturned nose, quiet, watchful eyes of no particular color, and small sandy mutton-chop whiskers, was standing near the window when she entered. He made a quick bow, and stepped nearer "Mrs. Liddell?" he asked.
"Yes, I am Mrs. Liddell."
"I have called on the part of my client, Mr. John Liddell, of Legrave Crescent, to make certain inquiries. This note, which I received from him yesterday afternoon, will explain the object of my visit."
"Pray sit down, Mr. Newton"—taking a chair as she spoke, while she read the small, crabbed, tremulous characters written on the page presented to her. The note contained directions to call on Mrs. Liddell and ascertain if she really was the widow of his late brother; also what security she could offer for a small loan.
Her color rose faintly as she read.
"You must not regard the plainness of business phraseology," said the visitor, in dry, precise tones. "My client means no offence."
"Nor do I mean to take any," she replied, handing him back the note. "Pray how am I to prove my own identity?"
"It would not, I suppose, be very difficult; but, as it happens,Ican be your witness. I quite well remember seeing you with Mr. Liddell, your late husband, some sixteen or seventeen years ago."
"Indeed! I am surprised that I do not recall you. I generally have a good memory, but—"
"Iam not surprised. I was unhappily the bearer of an unpleasant message, which excited Mr. Liddell considerably, and your attention was absorbed by your efforts to calm him."
"I remember," said Mrs. Liddell, coloring deeply. "It was a trying time."
"We will consider this inquiry answered. As regards the loan"—the door opening to admit Katherine interrupted him; he rose and bowed formally when her mother named her; then he resumedhis sentence—"as regards the loan, I must first know the amount it is proposed to borrow, in order to judge of the security offered."
"I asked my uncle for thirty pounds, but I should be very glad if he would lend us forty."
"No, Katie; I dare not take so much," interrupted her mother. "Remember, it must be repaid; and," addressing the lawyer, she added, "the only security I have to offer is the furniture of this house—furniture of the simplest, as you will see."
"Have you seen Mr. Liddell?" asked Mr. Newton, a slight expression of surprise passing over his face.
"My daughter has," said Mrs. Liddell.
"Yes; I ventured to visit him, because"—she hesitated, and then went on, frankly—"because we wanted this money very much indeed; and I found him in a sad condition." Katherine went on to describe the scene of yesterday, dwelling on the desolate position of the old man. "I felt frightened to leave him alone; he seems weak, and unfit to take care of himself. I hope, Mr. Newton, you will go to him and induce him to have a proper servant. I am going, because I promised in any case to go; and I must give the little servant's mother the half-crown I promised her."
"I have been somewhat uneasy respecting Mr. Liddell. For a considerable time I had my doubts of his cook housekeeper; but he is a man of strong will and peculiar views. Then the fear of parting with money increases with increasing years. I am glad Miss Liddell succeeded in making herself known to him; he is a peculiar character—very peculiar." He paused a moment, looking keenly at Katherine, and added: "With a view to arranging for the loan you require, I must ask to look at your rooms. I do not suppose I am a judge of such things, but the knowledge of former transactions, my recollection of our last interview, determines me to come myself rather than to send an ordinary employee."
"I feel your kind consideration warmly," said Mrs. Liddell. "Follow me, and you shall see what few household goods I possess."
Gravely and in silence Mr. Newton was conducted to the drawing-room, the best bedroom, Mrs. Liddell's, and the children's rooms. The examination was swiftly accomplished. Then the sedate lawyer returned to the dining-room and began to put on his right-hand glove. "I presume," he said—"it is a mere, formal question—I presume there is no claim or lien upon your goods and chattels?"
"None whatever. I want a little temporary help until—" She paused.
"My mother has been successful in writing short stories. Channing & Wyndham have a three-volume novel of hers now, and I am sure they will take it; then she can pay Mr. Liddell easily."
The lawyer smiled a queer little withered, half-developed smile. "I trust your anticipations may be verified," he said. "Now, my dear madam, I need intrude on you no longer; I shall go on to see Mr. Liddell. But though I shall certainly represent that he may safely make you this small advance, it is possible he may refuse; and it is certain he will ask high interest. However, I shall do my best."
"It will be a great accommodation if he consents. And if he is rich surely he will not deal as hardly with his brother's widow as with a stranger."
"Where money is concerned, Mr. Liddell recognizes neither friend nor foe. He will wish some form of the nature of a bill of sale to be signed."
"Whatever you both think right," said Mrs. Liddell.
Here some shouts from the garden drew Newton's attention to the window, through which Cecil and Charlie could be seen endeavoring to put some noxious insect on the neck of the nurse-maid, who had taken them their noonday slices of bread and butter. "My grandsons," said Mrs. Liddell, smiling—"My poor boy's orphans."
"Hum!" said the little man; and he stood a moment in thought.
"I think Miss Liddell said her uncle expressed a wish that she should return to see him?"
"He made me promise to go back to-day."
"Then by no means disappoint him. He is a very difficult man to manage, and if your daughter"—to Mrs. Liddell—"could contrive to interest him, to make him indulge in a few of the comforts necessary to his years and his position, it would be of the last importance, and ultimately, I hope, not unprofitable to herself."
"I fear the last is highly improbable; but Katherine will certainly fulfil her promise."
"I am going to drive over to Legrave Crescent myself: if it would suit Miss Liddell to accompany me, I shall be most happy to be her escort."
"Thank you; I shall be very glad."
"My brother-in-law will not imagine there is any collusion between you?" asked Mrs. Liddell, with a smile. "Men of his character are suspicious."
"No; I think I may venture so far, though Mr. Liddellissuspicious."
"Then I must ask you to wait while I put on my hat," said Katherine, and left the room.
She had changed her dress when her mother followed her. "My love, you had better take a few shillings, and try and come back soon. Why, Katie, considering you had to do cooking yesterday, you ought not to have put on your best frock, dear, for I see little chance of another."
"Oh, mother, I couldnotgo out in my old black cashmere with Mr. Newton. Why, he is the perfection of neatness."
"Here is Ada, just coming in."
"What a volley of questions she will ask! Now, mother, donotsatisfy her. Tell her my rich uncle has sent his solicitor to interview us, and that I am going to dine with him. I wish I could have had some dinner before I went, for I am going to Hungry Hall."
"Courage, darling! If wecanget this loan it will be a great relief. Do not keep him waiting any longer—there are your gloves. Come back as soon as ever you can."
"Where in the world is Katherine going, and who is that man?" exclaimed the younger widow, her light blue eyes wide open in amazement, when Katherine had passed her with a smiling "Good-by for the present," and walked down the road beside the precise lawyer.
"She is going-to her uncle, Mr. John Liddell, who expressed a wish to see her to-day, and that gentleman is Mr. Liddell's solicitor," returned the elder lady, smiling to think how soon she had been driven in upon the reserved force of her daughter's suggestion.
"What! that terrible old miser poor Fred used to talk of? Why, he will take a favorable turn, and leave everything to Katie! Oh, dear Mrs. Liddell, that will not be fair.Docontrive to let him see Cis and Charlie. We will declare that Cecil is his very image. Old men like to be considered like pretty young creatures. I always get on with crabbed old men. Letmesee him too. Katherine must not keep the game all in her own hands. Let me have a chance."
"I don't fancy Katie has much of a chance herself," returned Mrs. Liddell, as she followed her daughter-in-law into the dining-room. "It is an old man's whim, and he will probably never wish to see her again."
"Very likely. You know dear Katherine does not do herself justice; her manners are so abrupt. You do not mind my saying so?"
"Not in the least." Mrs. Liddell had a fine temper, and also a keen sense of humor. Though fond of and indulgent to her daughter-in-law, she saw through her more clearly than Katherine did, as she gave full credit for the good that was in her, in spite of her little foibles and greediness. "Katherine is much more abrupt than you are."
"Exactly. She will never be quite up to her dear mother's mark. Few step-mothers and daughters get on as we do, and I am sure you would look after poor Fred's boys as if they were your own."
"So would Katherine. Of that you may be sure, my dear."
"Oh yes; she is very fond of them, especially Charlie. I do not think she is really just to Cecil."
"Real justice is rare," returned Mrs. Liddell, calmly. "There is a note for you, Ada, on the chimney-piece; it came just after you went out."
"Why, it is from Mrs. Burnett!"—pouncing on it and tearing it open. "What shall I do?" she almost screamed as she read it. "I am afraid I shall never get there in time. What o'clock is it?—my watch is never right. Half-past twelve, and luncheon is at half-past one. Oh, I must manage it! Read that, dear.—Jane! Jane! bring me some hot water immediately, and come help me to dress.—What is the cab fare to Park Terrace? Eighteenpence?—it can't be so much. Just lend me a shilling; you can take it out of the ten pounds you are to pay me next week." And she flew out of the room.
"Mrs. Liddell sat down with a sigh, and read the note which caused this excitement:
"Dear Mrs. Liddell,—Do help me in a dilemma! We have a box for Miss St. Germaine's benefit matinee to-morrow, and Lady Alice Mordaunt wants to come with Fanny and Bea. You know she is not out yet. Now I am engaged to go with Florence to Lady McLean's garden party at Twickenham. So may Idependon you to come and chaperon them? If it were my own girls only, they could go with Ormonde or any one. But Lady Alice is to be escorted to our house by that incarnation of propriety, Mr. Errington; so they must have a chaperon. I therefore depend on you. Luncheon at 1.30. Do not fail. Ever yours affectionately.E. Burnett."
Mrs. Liddell folded up the epistle and placed it in its envelope; then she sat musing. How cruel it would be to break this butterfly on the wheel of bitter circumstance! It would be irrational, she thought, "to expect the strength that could submit to and endure the inevitable fromher. She will at once suffer more and less than my Katie. Small exterior things will sting Ada and make her miserable. As long as Katherine's heart is satisfied all else can be borne; butherconditions are more difficult. Heigho! for material ills there is nothing so intolerable as debt." She rose and went to her room with the vague intention of doing some of the hundred and one things which needed doing, one more than another, as was usual in her busy life, but somehow the uncertainty and anxiety oppressing her heart made her incapable of continued action; she was always breaking off to think—and the more she thought, the more uneasy she grew. If she had worked out the thin vein of invention and observation which gained her her humble literary success, one source of income was gone—a source on which she had reckoned too surely. Then she had not anticipated that her daughter-in-law would be so expensive an inmate. Self-denial was a thing incomprehensible to her. As long as she took care of her clothes, and refrained from buying the very expensive garments her soul longed for, she considered herself most exemplary. As for the smaller savings of omnibus and cabs not absolutely needful, she rarely thought of such matters, or, if she did, it made her frightfully cross, and urged her to many spiteful and contemptuous remarks on girls who have the strength of a horse, and do not care what horrid places they tramp through: so that she never was able to lighten the household burdens by a farthing beyond the very small amount she had originally agreed to contribute toward them.
Her mother-in-law's meditations were interrupted by the young widow skurrying in in desperate haste. "Jane has gone for a cab," she exclaimed; "have you that shilling?"
"Here; you had better have eighteenpence, in case—"
"Oh yes, I had better; and do I look nice?"
"Very nice indeed. I think you are looking so much better than you did last year—"
"That is because I go out a little; I delight in the theatre. Now I must be off. There is the cab—oh! a horrid four-wheeler. Good-by, dear."
Mrs. Burnett was the wife of a civilian high up in the Indian service, and was herself a woman of good family. She had come home in the previous winter in order to introduce her eldest daughter to society, and accidentally meeting Mrs. Frederic Liddell, whom she had known in India, was graciously pleased to patronize her. She had taken a handsome furnished house near Hyde Park, and kept it freely open during the season. Admission to such an establishment was a sort of "open sesame" to heaven for the little widow. She loved, she adored Mrs. Burnett and her dear charming girls, to say nothing of two half-grown sons, "the most delightful boys!" She was really fond of them for the time, and it was this touch of temporary sincerity that gave her the unconscious power to hold the hearts of Mrs. Burnett and her daughters.
She was quite the pet of the family, and always at their beck and call. To keep this position she strained every means; she even denied herself an occasional pair of gloves in order to tip the stately man-servant who opened the door and opened her umbrella occasionally for her.
She found the whole party assembled in the dining-room, and her entrance was hailed with acclamations.
"I had just begun to tremble lest you should not come," cried Mrs. Burnett, stretching out her hand, but not rising from her seat at the head of the table.
"I only had your note half an hour ago," said Mrs. Liddell, with pardonable inaccuracy, feeling her spirits rise in the delightful atmosphere, flower-scented, and stirred by the laughter and joyous chatter of the "goodlie companie."
A long table set forth with all the paraphernalia of an excellent luncheon was surrounded by a merry party, the girls in charming summer toilettes, and as many men as women. Men, too, in the freshest possible attire, all "on pleasure bent."
"Do you know us all?" asked Mrs. Burnett, looking round. "Yes, I think all but Lady Alice Mordaunt and Mr. Kirby."
"I have never had the pleasure of meeting Lady Alice Mordaunt before"—with a graceful little courtesy—"but Mr. Kirby, thoughhehas forgotten me, I remember meeting him at Rumchuddar, when I first went out to my poor dear papa. Perhaps you rememberhim—Captain Dunbar, at——?" Thus said Mrs. Liddell, as she glided into her seat between one of the Burnetts and a tall, big, shapeless-looking man with red hair, small sharp eyes, a yellow-ochreish complexion, and craggy temples, who had risen courteously to make room for her.
"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, turning red—a dull deep red. "I remember perfectly—that is, I don't rememberyou; I remember your father. I'm sure I do not know how I could have forgotten you," with a shy, admiring glance.
"Nor I either," cried Colonel Ormonde, who sat opposite. "Though Mrs. Liddell does not seem to rememberme."
"Why, I only saw you yesterday, and I am sure I bowed to you as I came in." So saying, Mrs. Liddell lifted her head with a sweet caressing smile to the eldest of the Burnett boys, who himself brought her some pigeon pie; and from that moment she devotedherself to her new acquaintance, utterly regardless of the hitherto tenderly cultivated Colonel.
Kirby, a newly arrived Indian magistrate, was not given to conversation, but he was assiduous in attending to his fair neighbor's wants, and seemed to like listening to her lively remarks.
Colonel Ormonde glanced at them from time to time; he was amazed and indignant that Mrs. Liddell could attend to any one save himself. He was rather unfortunately placed between Miss Burnett, whose attention was taken up by Sir Ralph Brereton, a marriageable baronet, who sat on her other side, and Lady Alice Mordaunt, a timid, colorless, but graceful girl, still in the school-room, who scarcely spoke at all, and if she did, always to her right-hand neighbor, a stately-looking man with grave dark eyes, which saved him from being plain, and a clear colorless brown complexion. He said very little, but his voice, though rather cold, was pleasant and refined, conveying the impression that he was accustomed to be heard with attention. He too was very attentive to Lady Alice, but in a kind, fatherly way, as if she were a helpless creature under his care.
"I believe we are quite an Indian party," said Mrs. Burnett, looking down the table. "Of course my children are Indian by inheritance; then there are Mr. Kirby and Mr. Errington"—nodding to the dark man next Lady Alice—"and Colonel Ormonde."
"I am not Indian, you know; I was only quartered in India for a few years," returned Ormonde, contradictiously.
"And I was only a visitor for one season's tiger-shooting," said Brereton.
"And I do not want to go," cried Tom Burnett; "I want to be an attache."
"Oh yes; you speak so many languages!" said his younger sister.
"I certainly do not consider myself an old Indian," said the man addressed as Errington, "though I have visited it more than once."
"You an Indian!" cried Ormonde. "Why, you have just started as an English country gentleman. We are to have Errington for a comrade on the bench and in the field down in Clayshire. His father has bought Garston Hall—quite close to Melford, Lady Alice. But I suppose you know all about it."
"Yes," said Lady Alice, in a tone which might be affirmation or interrogation. "There are such pretty walks in Garston Woods!"
"Errington was born with a silver spoon in his mouth," returned Ormonde. "Garston dwarfs Castleford, I can tell you. It was a good deal out of repair—the Hall I mean?"
"It is. We do not expect to get it into thorough repair till winter. Then I hope, Mrs. Burnett, you will honor us by a visit," said Errington.
"With the greatest pleasure," exclaimed the hostess.
"And oh, Mr. Errington, do give a ball!" cried Fanny, the second daughter.
"I fear that is beyond my powers. I do not think I ever danced in my life."
"Are you to be of the party on board Lord Melford's yacht?" asked Ormonde, speaking to Lady Alice.
"Oh no. I am to stay with Aunt Harriet at the Rectory all the summer."
"Ah, that is too bad. You'd like sailing about, I dare say?"
"Oh, yachting must be the most delightful thing in the world," cried Mrs. Liddell, from her place opposite. "If I were you I should coax my father to let me go."
"Papa knows best. I am very fond of the Rectory," said Lady Alice, blushing at being so publicly addressed.
"Andyouunderstand the beauty of obedience," said Errington, with grave approval.
"Now, if you intend to see the whole 'fun of the fair,'" said Mrs. Burnett, "you had better be going, young people. The carriage is to come back for us after setting you down at the theatre. Who are going? My girls, Lady Alice, and Mrs. Liddell? Who is to be their escort? Colonel Ormonde?"
He glanced across the table. Mrs. Liddell sent no glance in his direction; she again devoted her attention to Kirby.
"No, thank you. To be intensely amused from two to six is more than I can stand; besides, I hope to meet you at Lady Maclean's this afternoon."
"I have an engagement, a business engagement at three," said Errington; "but I shall be happy to call for these ladies and see them home."
"You need not take that trouble," said Mrs. Burnett. "My son will be in the theatre later, and take charge of them; but there is still a place in the box. Will you go, Mr. Kirby?"
"Oh, pray do!" cried Mrs. Liddell. "You will be sure to be amused; a matinee of this kind is great fun. There is singing and dancing and acting and recitations of all kinds." She spoke in her liveliest manner and her sweetest tones.
"You are very good. I have not been in a theatre since I arrived; so if you really have a place for me, I shall be most happy to accompany you."
"That's settled. Go and put on your hats, my dears," said Mrs. Burnett; and her daughters, with Lady Alice, left the room.
"Well, Mrs. Liddell, have you persuaded your handsome sister-in-law to join our party on Thursday?" asked Ormonde.
"I have really had no time to speak much to her. An old uncle of hers, as rich as a Jew and a perfect miser, sent his lawyer for her this morning. I suppose he is going to make her his heiress. I hope they will give a share to my poor little boys. I am going to take them to ask a blessing from their aged relative, I assure you."
"Oh yes, by George! you try and hold on to him. The little fellows ought to have the biggest share, of course, as thenephew'schildren. Why, it would change your position altogether if your boys had ten or fifteen thou. between them."
"Or apiece," said Mrs. Liddell, carelessly. She was immensely amused by the Colonel's tone of deep interest. "You may be very sure I shall do my best. I know the value of money."
"May I ask where this Mr. Liddell resides?" asked Mr. Errington, joining them, with a bow to the young widow.
"I really do not know, though he is my uncle-in-law. Pray do you know him?"
"No; I know of him, but we are not personally acquainted."
"And is he not supposed to be very rich?"
"That I cannot say; but I have an idea that he is well off."
With another bow Errington retreated to say good-morning to his hostess.
"Well, whether your sister-in-law comes or not, I hope we are sure of your charming self?" said Ormonde.
"Unless I am obliged to parade my boys for their grand-uncle's inspection, I am sure to honor you."
"Of course everything must give away tothat. I shall come and inquire what news soon, if I may?"
"Oh yes; come when you like."
"They are all ready, Mrs. Liddell," remarked her hostess.
Mr. Kirby offered his arm, which was accepted with a smile, and the little widow sailed away with the sense of riding on the crest of a wave. The ladies were packed into the carriage, the polite man out of livery whistled up a hansom for the two gentlemen, and the luncheon party was over.
It was a weary day to Mrs. Liddell—the dowager Mrs. Liddell, as society would have called her, only she had no dower. All she had inherited from her husband was the remnant of his debts, which she had been struggling for some years to pay off, and the care and maintenance of her boy and girl, on her own slender funds.
At present the horizon looked very dark, and she almost regretted for Katherine's sake that she had agreed to make a home for her son's widow and children. Yet what would have become of them without it?
Partly to rouse herself from her fruitless reflections, partly to relieve the house-maid, who had been doing some extra scrubbing, Mrs. Liddell took her little grandsons to Kensington Gardens, and when they had selected a place to play in she sat down with a book which she had brought in the vain hope of getting out of herself. But her sight was soon diverted from the page before her by the visions which came thronging from the thickly peopled past.
Her life had been a hard continuous fight with difficulty after the first few years of her wedded existence. She had seen her gay, pleasure-loving husband change under the iron grasp of untoward circumstances into a querulous, bitter, disappointed man, rewarding all her efforts to keep their heads above water by sarcastic complaints of her narrow stinginess, venting on her the remorseful consciousness, unacknowledged to himself, that his reverses were the result of his own reckless extravagance. Perhaps to her true heart the cruelest pain of all was the gradual dying out, or rather killing out, of the love she once bore him, the vanishing, one by one, of the illusions she cherished respecting him, till she saw the man as he really was, weak, unstable, self-indulgent, incapable of true manliness. Still she was patient with him to the last; and when she was relieved by friendly death from the charge of so wilful and ungrateful a burden—though things were easier, because hers was the sole authority—it was a constant strain to provide theeducation necessary for her boy. But that accomplished, she had a sweet interlude with her daughter in humble peace, and while she did her best to arm the child for the conflict of life, she avoided weakening herself by too much thought for her future. This spell of repose was broken by the necessity for sacrificing some of her small capital to set her son free from his embarrassments. Then came his death and her present experiment in house-keeping in order to give his widow and children a refuge.
For the last four or five years she had made a welcome addition to her small income by her pen, contributing to the smaller weekly periodicals stories and sketches; for Mrs. Liddell had seen much with keen, observant eyes, and had a fair share of humor. This small success had tempted her to spend several months on a three-volume novel, thereby depriving herself of present remuneration which shorter, lighter tales had brought in. She sorely feared this ambitious step was a mistake—that she had over-estimated her own powers. She feared that she could never manage to keep up the very humble establishment she had started. Above all, she feared that her own health and physical force were failing. It was such an effort to do much that formerly was as nothing. That attack of bronchitis last spring had tried her severely: she had never felt quite the same since. And if she were called away, what would become of Katherine? Never was there a dearer daughter than her Katie. She knew every turn, every light and shade in her nature—her faults, her pride and hastiness, her deep, tender heart. A sob rose in her throat at the idea of Katherine being left alone to engage single-handed in the struggle for existence. No! Shewouldlive!—she would battle on with poverty and difficulty till Katherine was a few years older; till she was stronger and better able to stand alone.
"Yet she is strong and brave for nineteen," thought the mother, proudly. "Perhaps I have kept her too much by my side. I wish I could let her pay a visit to the Mitchells. They have asked her repeatedly; but we must not think of it at present."
Here her little grandsons, who had more than once broken in upon her musings, came running across the grass to inform her they were sure it was tea-time, as they were very hungry.
"Then we shall go home," said Mrs. Liddell, immediately clearing her face of its look of gloom, and rising to accompany them, cheered by the thought that perhaps Katie's dear face might be ready to welcome her.
But neither daughter nor daughter-in-law awaited her, and a couple of hours went slowly over—slowly and wearily, for she forced herself to tell the boys a couple of thrilling tales, before they went to bed, to keep them quiet and cool. Then, with promises that both mamma and auntie should come and kiss them as soon as they returned, she dismissed the little fellows.
It was past seven when Katherine at last appeared at the garden gate.
"I am so glad you have come in before Ada," cried Mrs. Liddell, embracing her. "Are you very tired, dearest?"
"No, not nearly so tired as yesterday; and, mother dear, I think that strange old man will certainly give us the money."
"Thank God! Tell me all about your day."
"It was all very funny, but not terrible, like yesterday. My uncle seems determined to make a cook of me. He would not let them buy or prepare any food for him, except a cup of tea and some toast, until I came. How that frail old man can exist upon so little nourishment I cannot imagine; but though I seem to give him satisfaction, he does not express any. While he and Mr. Newton talked I was sent to look at the condition of the rooms upstairs. Such a condition of dust and neglect you could not conceive. Oh, the gloom and misery of the whole house is beyond description!"
"Did you get anything to eat yourself?" asked Mrs. Liddell.
"Yes; Mr. Newton, who is really kind and friendly under his cool, precise exterior, sent for some cakes. He staid a good while. I think he has a good deal of influence on Mr. Liddell. (I can hardly call him uncle.) He was more polite when Mr. Newton was present. When he was going away he said, 'I am happy to say I have convinced Mr. Liddell that you are his niece, and if you and your mother will call upon me at noon to-morrow, the loan you wish for can be arranged, if you will agree to certain conditions, which I should like to explain both to you and to Mrs. Liddell.' He gave me his card. Here it is. He has written 'twelve to one' on it."
"They must be very hard conditions if we cannot agree to them," said Mrs. Liddell, taking out her porte-monnaie and putting the card into it. "This is indeed a Godsend, Katie, dear. I am thankful you had the pluck to attack the old lion in his den."
"Lion! Hyena rather. Yet I cannot help feeling sorry for him. Think of passing away without a soul to care whether you live or die—without one pleasant memory!"
"His memories are anything but pleasant," returned Mrs. Liddell, gravely. "His wife, of whom I believe he was fond in his own way, left him when their only child, a son, was about ten years old. This seemed to turn his blood to gall. He took an unnatural dislike to his poor boy, and treated him so badly that he ran away to sea. Poor fellow? he used sometimes to write to your father. Their mutual dislike to John Liddell was a kind of bond between them. It is an unhappy story, for, as I told you, he was afterward killed at the gold diggings.
"Very dreadful!" said Katherine, thoughtfully. "What a cruel visiting of the mother's sin on the unfortunate child!—that horrible bit of the decalogue! With all his icy cold selfishness Mr. Liddell is a gentleman. His voice is refined, and except when he was carried away by hi-fury against his roguish housekeeper he seems to have a certain self-respect. After Mr. Newton went away I read for a long time all the money articles in two penny papers, for theTimeshad been taken away. Then I wrote a couple of letters, and all my uncle said was: 'So it seems you really are my niece. Well, I hope you know more of the value of money than either your father or mother.' I could not let that pass, and said, 'My father died when I was too young to know him; but no one could manage money better nor with greater care than my mother.' He stared at me. 'I am glad to hear it,' he returned, very dryly. He had a notefrom his stock-broker in reply to one I wrote for him yesterday. He seemed greatly pleased with it. He kept chuckling and murmuring, 'Just in time, just in time!'"
"Perhaps he will fancy you bring him luck."
"I am awfully afraid he will want me to go and read to him every day, for when I was directing one of the letters he said, as though to himself, 'If she can read and write for me I need not buy a new pair of spectacles.' It would be too dreadful to be with that cynical hyena every day."
"Oh, when he gets a good servant he will not want you."
"I hope not."
"Now come, you must have your supper, dear. I am sure you have earned it. We will have it quietly together before Ada comes back. I feel so relieved, I shall be able to eat now."
To avoid Mrs. Frederic Liddell's almost screaming curiosity was not easy, and to appease it Kate assumed an air of frankness, saying that she believed Mr. Liddell merely wished to test her powers as secretary, and that she hoped she had not succeeded too well.
"Oh, you lazy thing! You really ought to try and get in with him. Oughtn't she, Mrs. Liddell?"
"Yes, certainly, if she can; but I fancy it will not be so easy. What are you going to do to-day, Ada?"
"Oh, nothing"—in a rather discontented tone. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I am obliged to go into town on a matter of business, and I want to take Katherine."
"Well, I will look after the boys"—condescendingly, as if it were not her legitimate business. "But I really think you worry too much about those tiresome publishers. They would think more of you if you troubled them less. Your mother looks pale and fagged, Katherine."
"Yes, she does indeed," looking anxiously at her.
"I am afraid the publishers would leave me too utterly undisturbed if I left them alone," returned Mrs. Liddell, smiling, and leaving the suggestion uncontradicted. This conversation took place at breakfast.
Mother and daughter made the journey cityward very silently, both a good deal occupied conjecturing what conditions John Liddell could possibly mean to impose. Perhaps only a very high rate of interest, which would cost no small effort to spare from their narrow income.
Mr. Newton received his visitors directly their names were sent up to him. His was an eminent firm; their offices, light, clean, well furnished, an abode which impressed those who entered with the idea of fair dealing, and forbade the notion of dark dusty corners moral or physical.
Katherine's quick eyes took in the aspect of the place: the bookshelves, where stores of legal learning in calf-bound volumes were ranged: the various brown tin boxes with names in white paint suggestive of the title-deeds "of all the land"; the big knee-hole table loaded with papers; the heavy chairs upholstered in the best leather for the patients who came to be treated; and Mr. Newton himself, more intensely cleaned up and starched than ever, in an oaken seat of mediæval form.
He rose and set chairs for Mrs. Liddell and her daughter himself; then he rustled among his papers, and spoke down a tube.
"Ahem!" he began. "Your brother-in-law, madam, is a man of peculiar character, but by no means without discrimination. Thank you"—to a clerk who brought in a long folded paper and laid it beside him, disappearing quickly. "By no means without discrimination," repeated Mr. Newton. "Unfortunately the love of money grows on a childless man, and his terms for the loan you require may not meet your approbation."
"Pray what are they?" asked Mrs. Liddell.
"My client will accept a bill of sale on your furniture as security, but he will give you a period of eighteen months to repay him, and he will charge ten per cent.; but if you agree to another condition, which I will explain, he will be content with five per cent."
"This must be a severe condition," said Mrs. Liddell, with a slight smile.
"No; it may prove a fortunate condition," said the lawyer, with some hesitation. "In short, I have persuaded Mr. Liddell to allow me to choose him a respectable servant at fair wages. The state into which he has fallen is deplorable. I felt it my duty to remonstrate with him, and he is not averse to my influence. I therefore pressed upon him the necessity of having a better class of housekeeper, a person who could read to him and write for him, and would be above drink and pilfering."
"What did he say to that?" asked Katherine, with a bright, amused look.
"He said, very decidedly: 'I will have that girl you say is my niece to be my housekeeper and reader. She gave me the best and cheapest dinner I ever ate; her letter to my stock-broker brought me luck; and I will pay ready money for everything, so she shall not be able to leave books unpaid. If she comes I will be content with five per cent, on the loan, which must do instead of salary; and if she refuses, why, so do I.' An ungracious speech, Mrs. Liddell, but there is the condition."
"Do you mean my brother-in-law will refuse to help me if my daughter does not go to manage his house?"
"So he says."
"But did you not say at first that he would take ten per cent, without this sacrifice?"
"Hesaid so at first; then this plan seemed to strike him, and he was very firm about it."
"It is an awful place to go to." The words burst from Katherine's lips before she could stop herself.
"I can hardly agree to such a condition as this," cried Mrs. Liddell.
"And I must urge you not to reject it," said Mr. Newton, impressively, "for the sake of your daughter and grandsons. I must point out that by refusing you not only deprive yourself of the temporary aid you require, but you cut off your daughter from all chance of winning over her uncle by the influence of her presence. Propinquity, my dear madam—propinquity sometimes works wonders; and Mr. Liddell has a great deal in his power. I would not encourage false hopes, but this is a chance you may never have again—a chance of sharing her uncle's fortune. If she refuses, he will never see her again."
Silence ensued. The choice was a grave difficulty. Mrs. Liddell looked at Katherine, and Katherine looked at the carpet.
Suddenly Katherine looked up quickly, and said, in a clear, decided voice: "I will go. I will undertake the office of secretary and housekeeper—at least until my mother pays off this loan."
"Katie, my child, how shall you be able to bear it?"
"Miss Liddell has decided wisely and well," said the lawyer. "I earnestly hope—nay, I believe—she will reap a rich reward for her self-sacrifice."
"But, Mr. Newton, I cannot consent without some reflection. I too have some conditions to impose."
"And they are?" put in Newton, uneasily.
"I cannot define them all clearly on the spur of the moment; but I must have leave to go and see my daughter whenever I choose, and she must have the right to spend one day in the week at home."
"This might be arranged," said the lawyer, thoughtfully. "Be brave, my dear madam. Sacrifice something of the present to secure future good."
"Provided we do not pay too high a price for a doubtful benefit. It will be terrible for a young girl to be the bond-slave of such a man as John Liddell."
"Well, mother, I am quite willing to undertake the task. Not that I am going to be a bond-slave, but as soon as you have paid your debt, I shall consider myself free."
"By that time, my dear young lady, I hope you will have made yourself of so much importance to your uncle that he will make it worth your while to stay," exclaimed Newton, who was evidently actuated by a friendly feeling toward both mother and daughter.
"He must bribe high, then," returned Kate, laughing.
"Then may I inform Mr. Liddell that you accept his proposition? and you are prepared to begin your duties at once! Remember he considers his acceptance of five instead of ten per cent, frees him from the necessity of paying you any salary."
"Surely the laborer is worthy of his hire," said Mrs. Liddell.
"No doubt of it, madam; but the case is a peculiar one."
Some more particulars were discussed and arranged; Mr. Newton begged Mrs. Liddell to look out for and select a servant, that Katherine might begin with some prospect of comfort. It was settled that an interview should be arranged between Mrs. Liddell and her brother-in-law on the day but one following, at which Mr. Newton was to assist, Finally she signed a paper, and received six lovelynew crisp bank-notes, the magic touch of which has so marvellously reviving an effect.
Katherine slipped her arm through her mother's and pressed it lovingly as they walked to the Metropolitan station for their return journey. "Now, dear, you will have a little peace," she said.
"Dear-bought peace, my darling. I cannot reconcile myself to such a fate for you."
"Still, the money is a comfort."
"It is indeed. I will pay the rent to-day, and to-morrow I will give Ada her money. That will be an infinite relief. And still I shall have a few pounds left. Katie dear, is it not too dreadful, the prospect of eating, drinking, sleeping, and beginningdi nuovoeach morning in that gloomy house? How shall you bear it?"
"You shall see. If I can have a little chat with you every week I shall be able for a good deal. Then, remember, the book still remains. When that succeeds we may snap our fingers at rich uncles."
"When that time comes," interrupted her mother, "you will be tied to the poor old miser by habit and the subtle claims which pity and comprehension weave round the sympathetic."