When the rough weather of a stormy autumn obliged Katherine to keep in-doors she began to feel the monotony of existence by the sad sea waves, and to wish for the sociability of London. The end of October, then, saw Miss Payne and party re-established in Wilton Street, having left Cecil at school. With Charlie, Katherine could not part just yet. She intended to keep him till after Christmas, when he was to go to school with his brother.
Though town was empty as regarded "society," there was plenty of life and movement in the streets, and Katherine, always thankful for occupation which drew her thoughts away from her profound regret for the barrier which existed between Errington and herself, was glad to be back in the great capital. She threw herself into the scheme of establishing Rachel Trant as a "court dressmaker" most heartily, and Bertie Payne spared time from his multifarious avocations to give important assistance. Rachel herself, too, proved to be a wise counsellor, her previous training having given her some experience in business. Katherine therefore found interesting employment in looking for a small house suited to the undertaking.
Mr. Newton was writing busily in his private room one foggy afternoon when he was informed that Miss Liddell wished to speak to him.
"Show her in at once," he said, cheerfully, as if pleased, and he rose to receive her. "Glad to see you, Miss Liddell, looking all the better for your sojourn by the sea-side. Why, it must be nearly six months since I saw you."
"Yes, quite six months, Mr. Newton. I suppose you have been refreshing yourself too, after the fatigues of the season. You must try Sandbourne next year. It is a very nice little place."
"Sandbourne? I don't think I know it. But now what do you want, my dear young lady? I don't suppose you come here merely for pleasure."
"I assure you it always gives me great pleasure," said Katherine, with a sweet, sunny smile. "You have always been my very good friend."
"Well, a sincere one, at all events," returned the dry old lawyer, whose aridity was not proof against the charm of his young client.
"I must not waste your time," she resumed, drawing her chair a little nearer the table behind which he was ensconced. "I want to buy a house which I have seen, and I want you to attend to all details connected with it."
"Oh—ah! Well, a good house would not be a bad investment; it would be very convenient to have a residence in London."
"It is not for myself; it is a speculation."
"A speculation? What put that into your head?"
Whereupon Katherine told him her story.
"I think it rather a mad undertaking," was Mr. Newton's verdict. "These projects seldom succeed. I don't care for clever interesting young women who have no one belonging to them and cannot corroborate their stories. How do you know she was not dismissed from Blackie & Co.'s for theft?"
Katherine laughed. "I certainly do not know," she said, "but Ifeelit is quite as impossible for her to steal as it is for myself."
"Feel!—feel!" (impatiently). "Just so: impostors thrive on the good feelings of—of the simple."
"You were going to say fools," said Katherine. "Don't let us waste time, my dear Mr. Newton," she went on, with good-humored decision. "We shall never agree on such a topic; and I am going to buy this house, or another of the same kind if this proves not to be desirable; and I should be very sorry to employ any one but you to arrange the purchase."
"Oh, you know your own mind, and how to threaten—eh, Miss Liddell?" he returned, with a smile. "I must know more about the tenement before I can consent to act for you."
"It is an ordinary three-storied house, with a couple of rooms built out at the back, in a small street where there are a few shops; but it is near Westbourne Terrace, and therefore in a region of good customers. The late owner has been succeeded by a son, who seems very anxious to get rid of it. The price asked is seven hundred and fifty pounds, and I believe the taxes are under ten pounds. Do, dear Mr. Newton, look into the matter, and get it settled as soon as possible, and on the best terms you can."
"Hum! and the furniture? Do you undertake that too?"
"Of course. Don't you see, I can do it all out of the money I have not been able to use. There is quite three thousand pounds on deposit in the bank. You know you wrote to me only a month ago about letting the money lie idle. I shall employ it now, for myprotegee, Miss Trant, will be my only manager. I will pay her wages, and whatever profit after comes to me."
"A very unknown quantity," said the lawyer, drily. "Still, the house can't run away, and I suppose will aways let for fifty or sixty pounds a year."
"Fifty, I think."
"Then I will look into the matter. Is it in habitable repair?"
"It seems so. Do your best to have the purchase completed as soon as possible, dear Mr. Newton. I want to start my modiste in good time to catch the home-coming people."
"Believe me, it is an unwise project," said Newton, thoughtfully.
"I know you think so, and you are right to counsel me according to your conscience; but as I am quite determined, you must not let me go to a stranger for help."
"Very well; give me the address."
"Seven Malden Street, Paddington. Bell & Co., house agents, in Harrow Road, have it on their books."
"Good! I'll get a surveyor to see to sanitary arrangements, etc. Now that, as usual, you have conquered again and again, tell me something of yourself. Are you tired of the little nephews yet?"
"No, indeed. I have been happier with them than I dared hope to be when I was left alone nearly a year ago, yet"—Her voice faltered and her soft dark eyes filled.
"Yes, yes," hastily, with a man's dread of tears; "you couldn't get over that all at once. But you know it is a very Quixotic business taking those boys; and Mrs. Ormonde is not the woman to relieve you should any difficulty arise."
"But when boys are well provided for there never can be a difficulty. Ah, Mr. Newton, what a wonderful magician money is! What would become of me without it? It is almost worth risking anything to get it."
"Or, apparently, to get rid of it," remarked Mr. Newton. "By-the-way, that was a tremendous smash of Errington's. Did you hear anything about him?"
"Yes," rather faintly.
"The reason I mention him is that, curiously enough,hewas the man your uncle left everything to in that will he very fortunately destroyed. Of course I should only mention it to you: though now all is passed and gone, it is of no importance. He has behaved very well. I am told he has turned to literature. It's a pity he did not follow his profession; but it would be rather late in the day for that. I think you must find these rooms rather stuffy and warm after the sea-breezes, for you are looking pale and fagged again."
"I feel a headache coming on," said Katherine, pulling herself together. "I hope you will pay me a visit someday. I should like to show you my dear little Charlie. He has a great look of my mother, especially his eyes; they arejustlike hers."
"If you will allow me to come some Sunday——"
"Certainly. You will sympathise with Miss Payne. She shares your deep-rooted distrust of your fellow-creatures. Yet evenshehas some faint faith in Rachel Trant."
"That is the best symptom about the affair I have yet heard of. By-the-bye, this Miss Payne has made you comfortable? she has been a successful experiment?"
"Very successful indeed. I quite like her, and respect her; but I shall not stay longer than the time I agreed for. I want to make a home for the boys and myself."
"What! Will Mrs. Ormonde give them up?"
"Not avowedly, but they will ultimately glide into my hands."
"I trust you will not regret the charge you are taking on yourself."
"I do not fear failure. These children are a great source of pleasure to me."
A few more words, a promise on Mr. Newton's part to hurry matters, and Katherine, bidding him adieu for the present, descended to the brougham which she usually hired for distant expeditions. Ordering the coachman to stop at Howell& James', Katherine leaned back and reflected on the interview with Mr. Newton. No doubt he thought he had given her a good deal of curious information. If he only knew what a living lie she was! Her duplicity met her at every turn, and cried shame upon her. However, she had the pardon and permission of him against whom she had chiefly offended; that counted for much. Still, it was too hard a punishment that the ghost of her transgression should thus cry out against her, and she had done her best to rectify it. She felt profoundly depressed. It was an effort to execute the commissions intrusted to her by Miss Payne. These performed, she was leaving the shop, when a gentleman who was passing rapidly almost ran against her. He paused and raised his hat as if to apologize. It was Errington.
"Miss Liddell!" he exclaimed, a startled, pleased look animating his eyes. "I understood you were out of town. I hardly hoped to meet you again."
Katherine flushed up, and then grew white. "I have been out of town ever since—" Since what?—that turning-point in her life when she confessed all to him?
"And I have beenintown," rejoined Errington. "It is not nearly so bad as some people imagine. Where are you staying?"
"Oh, I am always with Miss Payne, in Wilton Street."
"I remember. But I am keeping you standing. May I come and see you?"
"Oh no; I would rather not," cried Katherine, with an irresistible impulse which she regretted the next moment.
"You are always frank," said Errington, with a kind smile, yet in a disappointed tone. "I will not intrude, then. How are your nephews, and Mrs. Ormonde? I seem to have lost sight of every one, for I have become a very busy man."
"Yes, I know," she returned, her color going and coming, her heart beating so fast she could hardly speak. "I must seem so rude! But I have read some of your papers inThe Age. It must, indeed, take time and study to produce such articles."
"And patience on the part of a young lady to wade through them."
"No; they always interest me, even when a little over my head. Though I do not want you to come and see me, I am always so glad to hear about you, to know you are well."
"Then why avoid me?"
"How can I help it?"—looking at him with dewy eyes and quivering lips.
"Well, I must accept your decision. I wish—But I will not detain you." He opened the carriage door and handed her in.
For an instant her eyes sought his with a wistful, deprecating look, then she said, "Tell him 'home,' please," and she drove off.
The encounter unhinged her for the day. Why had he crossed her path, and why had she allowed herself to reject his friendly offer to come and see her? Yet it would have made her miserable to bear the quiet scrutiny of his eyes through a whole visit. He had evidently quite forgiven her, but that could not restore her self-respect or render her less keenly alive to the silent reproach of his presence. And yet it was pleasant to hear him speak, his voice was so clear, so well modulated, so intelligent. And how well he looked!—better and brighter than she had ever seen him. It was evident that he was not breaking his heart about Lady Alice. How could she have given him up?
Though nothing was more natural or probable than that they should meet when both lived in the same town, huge as it is, it was an immense surprise to Katherine, who had somehow come to the conclusion that they were never to set eyes on each other again. This impression upset her. She was constantly on the outlook for Errington wherever she drove or walked, and the composure which she had been diligently, and with a sort of sad resignation to Errington's wishes, building up, was replaced by a feverish, restless anticipation of she knew not what.
The result was increased eagerness to see the completion of her dressmaking scheme, and she made Mr. Newton's life a burden to him till all was accomplished.
In this she found a shrewd assistant in Mrs. Needham, who took up the cause furiously, and drove hither and thither, exhorting, entreating, commanding, and really bringing in customers, somewhat to Katherine's surprise, as she did not expect much wool from so great a cry.
Shortly before Christmas Miss Trant's establishment was in full working order, a couple of clever assistants had been engaged, and Rachel herself seemed to wake up to the full energy of her nature under the spur of responsibility.
The affair was not brought to a conclusion, however, without a struggle on the part of Mr. Newton against Katherine's resolution not to appear in the matter. The house was bought in Rachel Trant's name, the sale was made to her, and Miss Liddell's name never appeared. Newton declared it to be sheer madness; even Bertie Payne considered it unwise; but Katherine was immovable.
"I am Miss Trant's creditor," she said. "If successful, she will pay me: if not, why, she will give up the house to me. I have full faith in her, and I wish her to be perfectly unshackled in the undertaking. As the owner of a house she will more readily obtain any credit she may need."
"Which means," said Mr. Newton, crossly, "that you willhave to pay her debts if you ever intend to get possession of the house."
"Well, I have made up my mind to the risk," returned Katherine, with smiling determination; "so we will say no more about it."
The unexpected meeting with Errington haunted Katherine for many a day, and many a night was broken by unpleasant dreams. She was filled with regret for having so hastily refused his proffered visit. Yet had he come she would have been uneasy in his presence. She longed to see him again; she came home from driving or walking each day with aching eyes and dulled heart because she had been disappointed in encountering him. Yet she dreaded to meet him, and trembled at the idea of speaking to him. She was dismayed at the restless dissatisfaction of her own mind. Was she never to find peace? never to know real enjoyment in her ill-gotten fortune? Why was it that the image of this man was perpetually before her, the sound of his voice in her ears? Then the answer of her inner consciousness came to overwhelm her with shame and confusion: "Because you love him with all the strength and fervor of a heart that has never frittered away its force in senseless flirtations or passing fancies." This was the climax of misfortune. To know that the one of all others she most looked up to must, in spite of his kind forbearance, despise her as a cheat. Surely it was a sufficient punishment for a delicately proud woman to know that she had given her love unasked. All that remained for her was to hide her deep wounds, that by stifling the new and vivid feelings which troubled her they would die out, and so leave her in a state of monotonous repose. She would endeavor by all possible means to win forgetfulness.
When Cis came back for the Christmas holidays, therefore, he found his auntie ready to go out with Charlie and himself to circus and pantomime, Polytechnic and wax-works, to his heart's content. It was not a brisk frosty Christmas, or she would no doubt have been with them on the ice, and the round of boyish dissipations called forth an oracular sentence from Miss Payne. "It's just as well those boys are going back to school, Katherine. You are more foolish about them than you used to be, and if they staid on you would completely ruin them."
Just before the holidays were over, Mrs. Ormonde visited London, or rather paused in passing through from the distinguished Christmas gathering to which, to her pride and satisfaction, she had been invited at Lady Mary Vincent's. The little boys were indifferently glad to see her, and with the jealousy inherent in a disposition such as hers she was vexed at not being first with her own boys, yet delighted to hand over the care and trouble of them to any one who would undertake it. These mixed feelings ruffled the bright surface of her self-content, inflated as it was by her increasing social success.
She chose to put up at a quiet hotel in Dover Street rather than accept Katherine's and Miss Payne's joint invitation to Wilton Street.
"I know you will not mind, Katie dear," she said, as she sat at tea (to which refreshment she had invited her sister-in-law). "You see if it were your own house, quite your own, I should prefer staying with you to going anywhere else. As it is——"
"You are quite right to please yourself," put in Katherine.
"Yes, you are always kind and considerate. But, do you know, both Colonel Ormonde and I are very anxious you should establish yourself on a proper footing. Believe me, you do not take the social position you ought, living with an obscure old maid like Miss Payne"—this in a tone of strong common-sense. "The proper place for you is with us at Castleford in the autumn and winter, and a house in town with us in the spring. Then you and I might go abroad sometimes together, and leave Ormonde to his turnips and hunting. You would be sure to marry well—quite sure."
"But I am going to settle myself in a house of my own this spring," said Katherine, smiling.
Against this project Mrs. Ormonde exhausted herself in eloquent if contradictory argument: but finding she made no impression, suddenly changed the subject. "That is a very expensive school you have chosen for the boys, Katherine. 'Duke thinks it ridiculous. Sixty pounds a year for such a little fellow as Cis! and now Charlie will cost as much."
"It is not cheap, certainly; but it is, I think, worth the money. Cecil has improved marvellously, and Sandbourne agrees so well with them both."
"You will do as you think best, of course. We have the highest regard for your opinion. But you must remember that what with clothes and travelling and—oh, and doctors!—it all comes to more than three hundred a year, and at Castleford I could keep them for next to nothing, while the stingy trustees you have chosen only allow me four hundred and fifty."
"So you have only about a hundred and fifty out of the total for your personal expenses, eh?" said Katherine, laughing. "Then you have a husband behind you."
"Oh, I assure you that does not count for much. 'Duke doesn't care to spend money, and my having something of my own makes matters wonderfully smooth. I am sure you would not like to make any unhappiness between us."
"No, certainly not. I think it quite right, as my brother's widow, you should have something for yourself as long as you live."
"You really have a great sense of justice, Katherine, I must say! Living as you do, dear, you can form no idea what it costs to present an appearance when you are in a certain set."
"I don't suppose I ever shall, though I like nice clothes too."
"And look so well in them!" added Mrs. Ormonde, who was always ready, when she deemed it necessary, to burn the incense of flattery on her sister-in-law's shrine. "By-the-way, that is a very pretty, well-made costume you have on. I think you are slighter than you used to be."
"The effect of a good fit. I wish you would employ my dressmaker. She is very moderate."
"Is she?"
A short discussion of prices followed, and Mrs. Ormonde declared she would call on Miss Trant that very afternoon and bespeak two dresses, for all she had were quite familiar to the eyes of her associates.
"I suppose you have heard or seen nothing of De Burgh lately?" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde, suddenly.
"No, not for a long time."
"He has been away—somewhere in Hungary, hunting or shooting—and then he has been staying with old Lord de Burgh. They used hardly to speak, and now he seems taken into favor. He is a curious sort of man, and he can besoinsolent! How he will put his foot on people's necks when he gets the old man's title and wealth!"
"If they let him," said Katherine, quietly.
"As he is in town, I thought he might have called on you. He was always running down to that stupid place in the summer, so I——"
"Mr. De Burgh!" said a waiter, opening the door with a burst.
"Talk of an angel!" cried Mrs. Ormonde, rising to receive him with a welcoming smile. "My sister was just saying it was a long time since she had seen you."
Katherine felt annoyed at the thoughtless speech—if itwasthoughtless. However, she kept a composed air, though the varying color which she never could regulate told De Burgh that she was not unmoved.
"And probably hoped it would be longer," he replied, as he shook hands with Mrs. Ormonde, but only bowed to Miss Liddell.
"Don't answer him," cried the former; "such decided fishing does not deserve success."
"I will not," said Katherine, with a kind smile. She was too thorough a woman not to have a soft corner in her heart for the man who had professed, with so convincing an air of sincerity, to love her with all his heart.
It did not, however, seem to please or displease him, for he sat down beside the tea-table with his usual unaffected ease, and addressed his conversation to Mrs. Ormonde.
"Just heard from Carew that you were in town, and I have only escaped from Pontygarvan, where I have been playing the dutiful kinsman to my immortal relative. I don't know which is most to be avoided, his enmity or his liking. He is an amusing old cynic at times, but a born despot. He only let me away to prosecute a scheme that he has taken up, and which I have gone pretty deeply into myself."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde, handing him some tea. "Have you turned promoter, or—"
"Well, I am going to be my own promoter; time only will show how I'll succeed. You must both give me your best wishes."
"I am sure I do," said Mrs. Ormonde.
De Burgh raised his eyes slowly to Katherine's. She had notspoken. "Don'tyouwish me success? No; I thought you didn't."
"I wish you all possible happiness," she said, in a low tone.
"Have you quarrelled with Katherine, or offended her, that she is so implacable?" asked Mrs. Ormonde.
"Neither, I hope. Now what are you doing in the way of amusement? Have you seen a play since you came up? The pantomimes are still on at the big theatres. But I want you to come and seeOursat the Prince of Wales on Thursday; it's very good in parts. Then if you'll sup with me after, at my rooms, I'll get Carew and Brereton and one or two others to meet you."
"It would be very nice!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde.
"Thank you," returned Katherine. "I am, strange to say, going to a party on Thursday."
"To a party! How extraordinary! Where, Katherine?"
"To Lady Barrington's—a lady I knew in Florence, and who has invited me repeatedly."
"I am sure I am very glad you are coming out of your shell at last. Where does this Lady Barrington live?"
"In Lancaster Square, not far from my abode."
"Well, let us say Friday forOurs," said De Burgh; "for I too am going to Lady Barrington's on Thursday."
"Then why did you invite us for that evening?" cried Mrs. Ormonde.
"I could have gone afterwards. Lady Barrington's gatherings are always late."
"You really know every one."
"Oh, not every one, Mrs. Ormonde."
"Then our 'play' is not to come off unless Katherine is to be of the party"—rather pettishly.
"If you like I will take you on Thursday, and Miss Liddell (if she will allow me) on Friday."
"What nonsense! We will all go together on Friday. Katie, do you think this friend of yours would invite me? I don't care to mope here when you are out enjoying yourself."
"I am sure she would be very pleased to see you. I will write and ask her for an invitation as soon as I go home." Katherine rose as she spoke.
"Do, like a good girl; and I will go and interview this dressmaker of yours. Till to-morrow, then."
The little woman stood on tiptoe to kiss her tall sister-in-law, who left the room, followed by De Burgh.
"Haven't I been a reasonable, well-behaved fellow not to have haunted or worried you all these months? Will you let me come and tell you how wise and staid and prudent I have become?" he said.
He spoke half in jest, but there was a wonderfully appealing look in his eyes.
"I am very glad to hear it, Mr. De Burgh. I hope you will go on and prosper."
"And will you shut your doors against me if I call?"
"No; why should I?"
"Thanks! How heavenly it is to see you again! though you don't look quite as bright as you did at Sandbourne. Is this your carriage? I see you have not started a turn-out of your own yet."
"And never shall, probably."
"Not, at all events, till you have appointed your 'master of the horse.' Good-by till to-morrow night."
He handed her carefully into the brougham, and stood looking after it as she drove away.
It was quite an event in Katherine's quiet life to go to a party. She had never been at one in London, and anticipated it with interest. Both in Florence and Paris she had mixed in society and greatly enjoyed it. Now she felt a little curious as to the impression she might make and receive. Her nature was essentially vigorous and healthy, and threw off morbid feelings as certain chemicals repel others inimical to them. She would have enjoyed life intensely but for the perpetually recurring sense of irritation against herself for having forfeited her own self-respect by her hasty action. It would have been somewhat humiliating to have taken charity from the hands of Errington, but this was as nothing to the crushing abasement of knowing that she had cheated him. Still, no condition of mind is constant—except with monomaniacs—and Katherine was often carried away from herself and her troubles.
She was glad, on the whole, that De Burgh was to be at Lady Barrington's reception.
She was too genial, too responsive, not to find admiration very acceptable. Nor could she believe that a man like De Burgh, hard, daring, careless, could suffer much or long through his affections. It flattered her woman's vanity, too, that with her he dropped his cynical, mocking tone, and spoke with straightforward earnestness. He might have ended by interesting and flattering her till she loved him—for he had a certain amount of attraction—if her carefully resisted feeling for Errington had not created an antidote to the poison he might have introduced into her life.
Altogether she dressed with something of anticipated pleasure, and was not displeased with the result of her toilette.
Her dress was as deeply mourning as it was good taste to wear at an evening party. A few folds of gauzy white lisse softened the edge of her thick black silk corsage, a jet necklet and comb set off her snowy, velvety throat and bright golden brown hair.
"I had no idea you would turn out so effectively!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde, examining her with a critical eye as they took off their wraps in the ladies' cloak-room. "Your dress might have been cut a little lower, dear; with a long throat like yours it is very easy to keep within the bounds of decency. I wonder you do not buy yourself some diamonds; they are so becoming."
"I shall wait for some one to give them to me," returned Katherine, laughing.
"Quite right"—very gravely—"only if I were you I should make haste and decide on the 'some one.'"
"Mrs. Ormonde and Miss Liddell!" shouted the waiters from landing to door, and the next moment Lady Barrington, a large woman in black velvet and a fierce white cap in which glittered an aigret of diamonds, was welcoming them with much cordiality.
"Very happy to see any friend of yours, my dear Miss Liddell! I think I had the pleasure of meeting you, Mrs. Ormonde, at Lord Trevallan's garden-party last June?"
"Oh yes; wereyouthere?" with saucy surprise.
"Algernon," continued Lady Barrington, motioning with her fan to a tall, thin youth. "My nephew, Mrs. Ormonde, Miss Liddell. I think Algernon had the pleasure of meeting you at Rome?" Katherine bowed and smiled. "Take Mrs. Ormonde and Miss Liddell in and find them seats near the piano. Signor Bandolini and Madam Montebello are good enough to give us some of their charming duets, and are just going to begin. I was afraid you might be late."
So Mrs. Ormonde and Miss Liddell were ushered to places of honor, and the music began.
"I don't see a soul I know," whispered Mrs. Ormonde, presently. "Yet the women are well dressed and look nice enough, but the men are decidedly caddish."
"London is a large place, with room in it for all sorts and conditions of men. But we must not talk, Ada."
Mrs. Ormonde was silent for a while; and then opening her fan to screen her irrepressible desire to communicate her observations, resumed:
"I am sure I saw Captain Darrell in the doorway only for a minute, and he went away. I hope he will come and talk to us. You were gone when he came back from leave—to Monckton, I mean. He is rather amu—" A warning "hush-sh" interrupted her.
"What rude, ill-bred people!" she muttered, under her breath. And soon the duet—a new one, expressly composed to show off the vocal gymnastics of the signore and madame—came to an end; there was a rustle of relief, and every one burst into talk.
"How glad they are it is over!" said Mrs. Ormonde. "Look at that tall girl in pink. You see those sparkles in the roses on her corsage and in her hair; they are all diamonds. I know the white glitter. What airs she gives herself! I suppose she is an heiress, and, I dare say, not half as rich as you are."
"Don't be too sure. I am no millionaire," began Katherine, when she was interrupted by a voice she knew, which said, "I had no idea it was to be such a ghastly concern as this!" and turning, she found De Burgh close behind her.
"What offends you?" she asked, smiling.
"All this trilling and shrieking. There's tea or something going on downstairs. You had better come away before they have a fresh burst; they are carrying up a big fiddle."
"Tea!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde. "Oh, do take me away to have some!"
"Here, Darrell," said De Burgh, coolly, turning back to speak to some one who stood behind him. "Here's Mrs. Ormonde dying for deliverance and tea. Come, do yourdevoir."
Darrell hastened forward, smiling, delighted. With a little pucker of the brow and lifting of the eyebrows Mrs. Ormonde accepted his arm.
"Now, Miss Liddell," said De Burgh, offering his; and not sorry to escape from the heated, crowded room, Katherine took it and accompanied him downstairs.
"I did not think you knew Lady Barrington," said Katherine, as he handed her an ice.
"Know her? Never heard of her till you mentioned her name the day before yesterday."
"How did she come to ask you to her house, then?"
"Let me see. Oh, I went down to the club and asked if any one knew Lady Barrington, and who was going to her party. At last Darrell said he was a sort of relation, and that he would ask for a card. He did, and here I am."
"But you said you were coming."
"So I was. I made up my mind to come as soon as you said you were."
"You are very audacious, Mr. De Burgh!" said Katherine, laughing in spite of her intention to be rather distant with him.
"Do you think so? Then I have earned the character cheaply. Are they going to squall and fiddle all night? I thought it might turn into a dance."
"I did not imagine you would condescend to dance."
"Why? I used to like dancing, under certain conditions. Don't fancy I haven't an ear for music, Miss Liddell, because I said the performance upstairs was ghastly. I am very fond of music—real sweet music. I likedyoursongs, and I should have liked a waltz with you—immensely. You know I never met you in society before—" He stopped abruptly and looked at her from head to foot, with a comprehensive glance so full of the admiration he did not venture to speak that Katherine felt the color mount to her brow and even spread over her white throat, while an odd sense of uneasy distress fluttered her pulses. She only said, indifferently: "I might not prove a good partner. I have never danced much."
"I might give you a lesson in that too, as well as in handling the ribbons. And for that there will be a grand opportunity next week. Lord De Burgh is coming up, and I shall have the run of his stables, which I will take good care shall be well filled. We'll have out a smart pair of cobs, and you shall take them round the Park every morning, till you are fit to give all the other women whips the go-by."
"Do you seriously believe such a scheme possible?"
"It shall be if you say yes. Do you know that you have brought me luck? You have, 'pon my soul! I am A-1 with old De Burgh, and I won a pot of money up in Yorkshire, paid a lot of debts, soldmy horses. Now, don't you think you ought to be interested in your man Friday? You remember our last meeting at Sandbourne—hey? Don't you think I am going to succeed all along the line?"
"It is impossible to say," returned Katherine. "You know there is a French proverb—" She stopped, not liking to repeat it as she suddenly remembered the application.
"Yes, I do know the lying Gallic invention!Heureux au jeu, malheureux en amour. I don't believe it. If luck's with you, all goes well; but then Fortune is such a fickle jade!"
"I trust you will always be fortunate, Mr. De Burgh," said Katherine, gently.
"I like to hear you say so. Now I don't often let my tongue run on as it has, but if you'll be patient and friendly, I'll be as mild and inoffensive as a youngster fresh from school."
"Very well," said Katherine, smiling and confused. Here she was interrupted by the sudden approach of Mrs. Needham, her dark eyes gleaming with pleased recognition, and her high color heightened by the heat of the rooms. She was gorgeous in red satin, black lace and diamonds. "My dear Miss Liddell! I have been looking for you everywhere! I want so much to speak to you about a project I have for starting a new weekly paper, to be calledThe Woman's Weekly. There is an empty sofa in that little room at the other side of the hall. Do come, and I will explain it all. It is likely to do a great deal of good, and to be a paying concern into the bargain. You will excuse me for running away with Miss Liddell"—to De Burgh—"but we have some matters to discuss. We shall meet you upstairs afterwards." She swept Katherine away, while De Burgh stood scowling. Who was this audacious pirate who had cut out his convoy from under the fire of his angry eyes?
"You see, my dear," commenced Mrs. Needham, in a low voice and speaking rapidly, "there is an immense field to be cultivated in the humble strata of the better working-class, and the paper I wish to establish will be quite different fromThe Queen, more useful and less than half-price. No stuff about fashionable marriages in print that is enough to blind an eagle, but useful receipts and work patterns, domestic information, and a story—a story is a great point—a description of any great events, and fashion plates, etc." And she poured forth a torrent of what she was pleased to term "facts and figures" till Katherine felt fairly bewildered.
"It seems a great undertaking," she replied, when she could get a word in. "I shall require a great deal of explanation before I can comprehend it. Will you not come and see me when we shall be alone, and we can discuss it quietly?"
"Certainly, my dear Miss Liddell—to-morrow. No; to-morrow I have about seven or eight engagements between two and six-thirty. Let me see. I am terribly pressed just now; I will write and fix some morning if you will come and lunch with me. If you could see your way to taking a few shares it would be a great help. Money—money—money. Without the filthy lucre nothing can be begun or ended. Now tell me how you have been. I have been coming tosee you formonths, but never get a moment to myself; but I have heard of you from Mr. Payne. What a good fellow he is! How is Miss Payne?" Katherine replied, and Mrs. Needham rushed on: "Nice party, isn't it? There are several literary people here to-night. I did not know Lady Barrington went in for literary society, but one picks up a little of all sorts when you live abroad for a while. Here is a very interesting man. He is coming very much to the front as a political and philosophic writer. It is said he is to be the editor ofThe Empire, that new monthly which they say is to take the lead of all the magazines. I met him at Professor Kean's last week. I don't think he sees me—Good-evening! Don't think you remember me—Mrs. Needham. Had the pleasure of meeting you at Professor Kean's last Monday. Mr. Errington, Miss Liddell!"
"I have already the pleasure of knowing Miss Liddell," he returned, with a grave smile and stately bow, as he took the hand Katherine hesitatingly held out.
"Oh, indeed; I was not aware of it." Errington stood talking with Mrs. Needham, or, rather, answering her rapid questions respecting a variety of subjects, until she suddenly recognized some one to whom she was imperatively compelled to speak. With a hasty, "Will you be so good as to take Miss Liddell to her friends?" she darted away with surprising lightness and rapidity, considering her size and solidity.
"Would you like to go upstairs?" asked Errington.
"If you please." Katherine was quivering with pain and pleasure at finding herself thus virtually alone with the man whose image haunted her in spite of her constant determined efforts to banish it from her mind.
On the first landing was a conservatory prettily lit and decorated, and larger than those ordinarily appended to London houses. "Suppose we rest here," said Errington. "From the quiet which reigns above, I think some one is reciting and that is not an exhilarating style of amusement."
"I should think not. I have never heard any one attempt to recite in England."
"May you long be preserved from the infliction! There are very few who can make recitation endurable."
After some enquiries for Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde, and a few observations on the beautiful, abundant flowers, Errington said: "Won't you sit down? If it is not unpleasant to you, I should like to improve this occasion, as I rarely have an opportunity of seeing you."
Katherine complied, and sat down on a settee which was behind a central group of tall feathery ferns. She was another creature from the bright and somewhat coquettish girl who was always ready to answer De Burgh or Colonel Ormonde with keen prompt wit. Silent, downcast, scarcely able to raise her eyes to Errington's, yet too fascinated to resist his wish to continue their interview.
"I am very glad to meet you here," began Errington in his calm, melodious voice. "It is so much better for you to mix with your kind; it has a wholesome, humanizing influence, and may I venture to say that you are inclined to be morbid?"
"Can you wonder?" said Katherine, soft and low.
"Yes, I do. There is no reason why you should not be bright and happy, and enjoy the goods the gods—"
"No," she interrupted, playing nervously with the flowers in her bouquet; "not given by the gods! Stolen from you!" She did not raise her eyes as she spoke.
"I do beg you to put that incident out of your mind. We have arranged the question of succession, as only I had a right to do. No one else need know, and you will, I am sure, make a most excellent use of what is now really yours. Forget the past, and allow me to be your friend."
"I am always thinking of you," she said, almost in a whisper. "Yet it is always a trial to meet you. I think I would rather not. Tell me," with a sudden impulse of tenderness and contrition, looking up to him with humid eyes, "are you well and happy? How have you borne the terrible change in your life?"
"I am perfectly well and quite happy," returned Errington, with a slight smile. "The terrible change, as you term it, has affected me very little. I find real work most exhilarating, and slight success is sweet. Since I knew that the tangle of my poor father's affairs was satisfactorily unravelled, I have been at ease, comparatively. Life has many sides. I miss most my horses."
"Ah, yes, you must miss them! Well, from what I hear, you seem to be making a place for yourself in literature. I am so glad!"
"Thank you. And you, may I ask, what are your plans?"
"If you are so good as to care, I am going to take a house and make a home for myself and my little nephews. Without any formal agreement, Mrs. Ormonde leaves them very much to me. They are a great interest to me. And as you are so kind in wishing me to be happy and not morbid, I will try to forget. I think I could be happier if you would promise me something."
"What?"
"If ever—" She hesitated; her voice trembled. "If you ever want anything," she hurried on, nervously, "anything, even to the half of my kingdom, you will deign to accept it from me?"
"I will," said Errington, with a kind and, as Katherine imagined, a condescending smile.
"He thinks me a weak, impulsive child, who must be forgiven because she is scarcely responsible," she said to herself.
"And this preliminary settled, you will admit me to the honor of your acquaintance?"
"Oh, Mr. Errington, do not think me ungrateful. But can you not understand that, good and generous as you are, your presence overwhelms me?"
"Then I will not intrude upon you. Gently and very gravely I accept your decree."
They were silent for a moment; then Katherine said, "I was sure you would understand me." As she spoke, De Burgh suddenly came round the group of ferns and stood before them with an air of displeased surprise.
"Why, Miss Liddell! I thought that desperate filibuster in redsatin had carried you off. I have sought you high and low. How d'ye do, Errington? Haven't seen you this age. Mrs. Ormonde wants to go home, Miss Liddell."
"I suppose the recitation is over," said Errington, coolly. "I will take Miss Liddell to Mrs. Ormonde, whom I have not seen for some time."
De Burgh, therefore, had nothing for it but to walk after the man whom he at once decided was a dangerous rival, as indeed he would have considered any one in the rank of a gentleman.
Mrs. Ormonde was quite charmed to see Errington. She had put him rather out of her mind. It was a pleasant surprise to meet him once more in society, for she had a sort of dim idea his ruin was so complete that he must have sold his dress clothes to provide food, and could never, therefore, hold up his head in society again.
"It is quite nice to see you once more!" she exclaimed, with a sweet smile, after they had exchanged greetings. "Colonel Ormonde will be delighted to hear of you. I wish you could come down for a few days' hunting. Do give me your address, and Duke will write to you."
"There is my address," he said, taking out his card case and giving her a card; "but I fear there is little chance of my getting out of town till long after the hunting is over."
"Oh, you must try. At all events, come and see me. I am at Thorne's Hotel, Dover Street, and almost always at home about five. But I leave town next week."
Here the hostess sailed up, and touching Errington's arm, said "Sir Arthur Haynes, the great authority on international law, you know, wants to be introduced to you, Mr. Errington."
Mrs. Ormonde took the opportunity of saying good-night, and Katherine took farewell of Errington with a bow.
"Twenty-four, Sycamore Court Temple. What a come-down for him!" said Mrs. Ormonde, looking at the card she held, when they reached the cloak-room.
"He seems cheerful enough," said Katherine, irritated at the tone in which the observation was made; "and I thought the Temple was rather a smart place to live in."
"I am sure I don't know. Come, it must be late. What a stupid party! How cross De Burgh looks! I am sure he has a horrid temper."
In the hall Captain Darrell and De Burgh awaited them. The latter was too angry to speak. He handed Katherine into the carriage, and uttering a brief good-night, stepped back to make way for Captain Darrell, who expressed his pleasure at having met Mrs. Ormonde, and begged to be allowed to call next day.
On the whole, Katherine felt comforted by the assurance of Errington's friendly feeling toward her. How cruel it was to be obliged thus to reject his kindly advances! But it was wiser. If she met him often, what would become of her determination to steel her heart against the extraordinary feeling he had awakened? Besides, it could only be the wonderful patient benevolence of his nature which made him take any notice of her. In his own mindcontempt could be the only feeling she awakened. No; the less she saw of him, the better for her.
By the time De Burgh called to escort Katherine and Mrs. Ormonde (who had dined with her) to the theatre he had conquered the extreme, though unreasonable, annoyance which had seized him on finding Errington and Katherine in apparently confidential conversation. He exerted himself therefore to be an agreeable host with success.
A play was the amusement of all others which delighted Katherine and drew her out of herself. De Burgh was diverted and Mrs. Ormonde half ashamed of the profound interest, the entire attention, with which she listened to the dialogue and awaited thedenouement.
"I should have thought you had seen too much good acting abroad to be so delighted with this," said Mrs. Ormonde.
"But this is excellent, and the style is so new I have to thank you, Mr. De Burgh, for a delightful evening."
"The same to you," he returned. "Seeing you enjoy it so much woke me up to the merits of the thing."
The supper was bright and lively. Three men besides himself, and a cousin, a pretty, chatty woman of the world, completed De Burgh's party. There was plenty of laughing and chaffing. Katherine felt seized by a feverish desire to shake off dull care, to forget the past, to be as other women were. There was no reason why she should not. So she laughed and talked with unusual animation, and treated her host with kindly courtesy, that set his deep eyes aglow with hope and pleasure.
"It is a great advantage to be rich," said Mrs. Ormonde, reflectively, as she leaned comfortably in the corner of the carriage which conveyed her and her sister-in-law home. She was always a little nettled when she found how completely Katherine had effaced herself from De Burgh's fickle mind. She had been highly pleased with the idea of having her husband's distinguished relative for a virtuous and despairing adorer, and his desertion had mortified her considerably.
"Yes, money is certainly a great help," returned Katherine, scarce heeding what she said.
"It certainly has been to you, Katie. Don't think me disagreeable for suggesting it, but do you suppose De Burgh would show you all this devotion if you were to lose your money?"
"Oh no! He could not afford it. He told me he must marry a rich woman."
"Did he, really? It is just like him. What audacity! I wonder you ever spoke to him again. Then youaregoing in for rank, Katherine?"
"How can you tell? I don't know myself. Good-night. I shall tell you whenever I know my own mind."
"She is as close as wax, with all her frankness," thought Mrs. Ormonde as she went up to her room, after taking an affectionate leave of her sister-in-law.
The boys at school, Katherine found time hung somewhat heavily on her hands—a condition of things only too favorable to thoughtand visions of what "might have been." So, with the earnest hope of finding the exhilarations which might lead, through forgetfulness, to the happiness she so eagerly craved, Katherine accepted almost all the invitations which were soon showered upon her. At the houses of acquaintances she had made abroad she made numerous new ones, who were quite ready tofete, the handsome, sweet-voiced, pleasant-mannered heiress, who seemed to think so little about herself.
"Just the creature to be imposed upon, my dear!" as each mother whispered to the one next her, thinking, of course, of the other's son.
But her most satisfactory hours were those spent with Rachel, when they talked of the business, and often branched off to more abstract subjects. To the past they never alluded. Katherine was glad to see that the dead, hopeless expression of Rachel Trant's eyes had changed, yet not altogether for good. A certain degree of alertness had brightened them, but with it had come a hard, steady look, as though the spirit within had a special work to do, and was steeled and "straitened till it be accomplished."
"You are quite a clever accountant, Rachel," said Katherine, one afternoon in early April, after they had gone through the books together. "You have been established nearly five months, and you have paid expenses and a trifle over."
"It is not bad. Then, you see, the warehouses will give me credit for the next orders, three months' credit, and my orders are increasing. I am sure it is of great importance to have materials for customers to choose from. Ladies like to be saved the trouble of shopping, and I can give a dress at a more moderate rate, if I provide everything, than they can buy it piecemeal. I hope to double the business this season, and pay you a good percentage. Even on credit I can venture to order a fair supply of goods."
"Don't try credit yet, Rachel," said Katherine, earnestly. "I can give you a check now, and after this you can stand alone."
"Are you quite sure you can do this without inconvenience?" asked Rachel. "If you can, I will accept it. I begin to feel sure I shall be able to develop a good business and what will prove valuable property to you. It is an ambition that has quite filled my heart, and in devoting myself to it I have found the first relief from despair—a despair that possessed my soul whenever you were out of my sight. When I am not thinking of gowns and garnitures, I am adding up all the money you have sunk in this adventure, and planning how it may ultimately pay you six per cent. over and above expenses. It does not sound a very heroic style of gratitude, but it is practical, and I believe feasible."
"You are intensely real," said Katherine, "and I believe you will be successful."
After discussing a few more points connected with the undertaking they parted, and before Katherine dressed for dinner she wrote and despatched the promised check.
De Burgh had throughout this period conducted himself with prudence and discretion. He often called about tea-time, and frequently managed to meet Katherine in the evening, but he carefully maintained a frank, friendly tone, even when expressing in his natural brusque way his admiration of herself or her dress. He talked pleasantly to Miss Payne, and subscribed to many of Bertie's charities. Katherine was getting quite used to him, though they disagreed and argued a good deal. She sometimes tried to persuade herself that De Burgh had given up his original pretentions and would be satisfied with platonics. But her inner consciousness rejected the theory. Still, De Burgh came to be recognized as a favored suitor by society, and the "mothers, the cousins, and the aunts" of eligible young men shook their heads over the mistake she was making.
Now, after mature consideration, Katherine determined to make the will she had so long postponed, and bequeath all she possessed to Errington. It was rather a formidable undertaking to announce this intention to Mr. Newton, who would be sure to be surprised and interrogative, but she would do it. Having, therefore, made an appointment with him, she screwed up her courage and set out, accompanied by Miss Payne, who had been laid up with a cold, and was venturing out for the first time. She took advantage of Katherine's brougham to have a drive. The morning was very fine, and they started early, early enough to allow Miss Payne to leave the carriage and walk a little in the sun on "the Ladies' Mile."
As they proceeded slowly along, a well-appointed phaeton and pair of fine steppers passed them. It was occupied by two gentlemen, one old, gray, bent, and closely wrapped up; the other vigorous, dark, erect, held the reins. He lifted his hat as he passed Katherine and her companion with a swift, pleased smile.
"Who are those women?" asked the old gentleman, in a thick growl.
"Miss Liddell and her companion."
"By George! she looks like a gentlewoman. Turn, and let us pass them again."
De Burgh obeyed, and slackened speed as he went by. At the sound of the horses' tramp Katherine turned her head and gave De Burgh a bright smile and gracious bow.
"She is wonderfully good-looking for an heiress," remarked Lord de Burgh, who was, of course, the wrapped-up old gentleman. "I should say something for you if you could show such a woman with sixty or seventy thousand behind her as your wife. Why don't you go in and win? Don't let the grass grow under your feet."
"It is easier said than done. Miss Liddell is not an ordinary sort of young lady; she is not to be hurried. But I do not despair, by any means, of winning her yet. If I press my suit too soon, I may lose my chance. Trust me, it won't be my fault if I fail."
"I see you are in earnest," said the old man, "and I believe you'll win."
De Burgh nodded, and whipped up his horses.
"That must be the old lord," said Miss Payne, as the phaeton passed out of sight. "Mr. De Burgh seems in high favor. I cannot help liking him myself. There is no nonsense about him, and he is quite a gentleman in spite of hisbrusquerie."
"Yes, I think he is," said Katherine, thoughtfully, and walked on a little while in silence. Then Miss Payne said she felt tired; so they got into the carriage again and drove to Mr. Newton's office. There Katherine alighted, and desired the driver to take Miss Payne home and return for herself.
"And what is your business to-day?" asked Mr. Newton, when, after a cordial greeting, his fair client had taken a chair beside his knee-hole table.
"A rather serious matter, I assure you. I want to make my will."
"Very right, very right; it will not bring you any nearer your last hour and it ought to be done."
The lawyer drew a sheet of paper to him, and prepared to "take instructions."
"I should like to leave several small legacies," began Katherine, "and have put down the names of those I wish to remember, with the amounts each is to receive. If you read over this paper" (handing it to him) "we can discuss——"
She was interrupted by a tap at the door which faced her, but was on Newton's left. A high screen protected the old lawyer from draughts, and prevented him from seeing who entered until the visitor stood before him.
"Come in," said Newton, peevishly; and as a clerk presented himself, added, "What do you want?"
"Beg pardon, sir. A gentleman downstairs wants to see you so very particularly that he insisted on my coming up."
"Well, say I can't. I am particularly engaged. He must wait."
While he spoke Katherine saw a man cross the threshold, a tall, gaunt man, slightly stooped. His clothes hung loosely on him, but they were new and good. His hair was iron gray, and thin on his craggy temples. Something about his watchful, stern eyes, his close-shut mouth, and strong, clean-shaven jaw seemed not unfamiliar to Katherine, and she was strangely struck and interested in his aspect. Mr. Newton's last words evidently reached his ear, for he answered, in deep, harsh tones, "No, Newton, I willnotwait!" and walked in, pausing exactly opposite the lawyer, who grew grayly pale, and starting from his seat, leaned both hands on the table, while he trembled visibly. "My God!" he exclaimed, hoarsely; "George Liddell!"
"Ay, George Liddell! I thought you would know me."
When these startling sentences penetrated to Katherine's comprehension she saw as with a flash their far-reaching consequences. Her uncle's will suppressed, his son and natural heir would take everything. And her dear boys—how would they fare?
She sat with wide-dilated eyes, gazing at the hard, displeased face of this unwelcome intruder. There were a few moments of profound silence; the old lawyer's hands, which relaxed their grasp of his chair as he looked with startled amazement at his late client's son, visibly trembled.
Liddell was the first to speak. "So you thought I was dead and out of the way," he said, with a sneer; "that nothing would happen to disturb the fortunate possessor of my father's money. I was dead and done for, and a good riddance."
"But how—how is it that you are alive!" stammered Mr. Newton.
"Oh, that I can easily account for." And he looked round for a chair.
"Yes, pray sit down," said Mr. Newton, recovering himself.
Here Katherine, with the unconscious tact of a sensitive woman, feeling how terrible it must be to find one's continued existence a source of regret to others, rose and held out her hand. "Let me, your kinswoman," she said, "welcome you back to life and home. I hope there are many happy years before you."
Liddell was greatly surprised. He mechanically took the hand offered to him, and looking earnestly into her face, exclaimed, "Who are you?"
"Katherine Liddell, your uncle Frederic's daughter."
He dropped—indeed, almost threw—her hand from him. "What!" he cried, "areyouthe supplanter, who took all without an inquiry, without an effort to find out if I were dead or alive?"
"Sit down—sit down—sit down," repeated Newton, still confused. "Let us talk over everything. As to trying to find you, we never dreamed of finding you, considering that twelve, fourteen years ago we had an account of your death from an eye-witness."
"Cowardly liar! It was worth a Jew's ransom to see him turn white and drop into a chair when I confronted him the day before yesterday."
"Why did you not communicate with me on hearing of your father's death?"
"When do you think I heard of it? Do you fancy I sat down in the midst of my busy day to pore over the births, deaths, and marriages in a paper, like a gossiping woman? Kith and kin were dead to me long ago. What did I care for English papers? What had my life or the life of my poor mother been that I should give those I had left behind a thought?" He paused, and taking a chair, looked very straight at Katherine. "Now I shall tell you my story, once for all, to show you that there is no use in disputing my rights. You know"—addressing Newton—"how my life was made a burden to me, and that I ran away to sea, ready to throw myself into it rather than return to my miserable home. After several voyages I found myself at Sydney. A young fellow who had been my mate on the voyage out, an active, clever chap, proposed that we should start for the gold fields; so we started. It was a desperate long tramp, but we reached them at last. Life was hard and rough, and for a time we worked and worked, and got nothing. At last we found a pocket, just as we were going to give up, and having secured afair lot of gold, we divided our gains and determined to leave the camp, which was not too safe for a successful digger, before the rest knew of our treasure-trove. We decided to trudge it to the nearest place where we could buy horses, and then to make our way to Sydney as fast as we could. Somehow it must have got out that wehadgold, for as the dusk of evening was closing round us on the second day of our march we were attacked by some men on horseback—bush-rangers, I suppose. We showed fight, and I was hit in the shoulder. At the same time I stumbled over a stump, and pitched on to my head, which stunned me. Just then, it seems, the sound of horses approaching frightened the scoundrels, and they made off. My mate, not knowing whether the new-comers were friends or foes, he says, got away as fast as he could. His story is that as soon as all was still he crept back, and finding me apparently quite dead, went on to report the catastrophe at the first road-side inn he came to.Ibelieve that, thinking me dead, he took all my gold, and said precious little about me."
"His story to me," interrupted Mr. Newton, "was that he got assistance and buried your remains as decently as he could."
"What induced him to apply to you at all?"
"I do not know. I fancy it was to hand over a few small nuggets, which he said was your share of the findings, and which he took from your waistband before committing you to the grave. As he seemed frank and straightforward and quite poor, I confess I believed him, and even requested Mr. Liddell to give him some small present. He said he was going afloat again, and would sail in a few days. He had an old clasp-knife which I myself had given you, and with it a small pocket-book in which your name and my address were written in your own hand. These were tolerably convincing proofs that he at least knew you. Moreover, there seemed no need whatever that he should have made any attempt to communicate with your people. He might have held his tongue, and no question would have been raised respecting you."
"You are right," returned Liddell, bitterly.
"And how did you escape?" asked Katherine, with eager interest.
"He—this Tom Dunford—didgo to the next inn and told of the attack; he even guided some men to the spot, and leftthemto bury me, because he was obliged to hurry on to Sydney; but I believe he returned, before going to the inn, and robbed me. Anyhow I was not killed by the bullet, but stunned by the fall. Some of the fellows who came with Tom fancied I did not seem quite dead. Finally I recovered, and instead of digging for gold myself, got others to dig for me. I set up an inn and a store, with the help of an American whose daughter I married, and now I am rich enough to be a formidable foe. I have a little girl, and when my wife died I determined to realize everything, to come to England, and have the child brought up as an English lady. On the voyage home I fell in with a man—a fellow of the rolling-stone order—to whom I used to talk now and again. He turned out to be the brother of one of your clerks, and from him I heard that my father had died intestate, that mycousin had taken possession of everything, and that I was looked upon as dead. Did you never attempt to prove the truth of Tom Dunford's story?"
"We did. I communicated with the police of Sydney, and they found that there had been a fight between bush-rangers and diggers returning from Woollamaroo at the time and place specified; moreover, that one of the diggers was killed, while the other escaped, but further nothing was known. The man who kept the inn mentioned by Dunford had made money and moved off, so the track was broken. Then all these years you made no sign. Did you not see the advertisements I put in an Australian paper?"
"No; I was far away from any town, and rarely saw any but the American papers which came to my master. Well, here I am, determined to have every inch of my rights, let who will stand in my way; andyou"—looking fiercely into Newton's eyes—"shall be my first witness."
"I cannot deny that I recognize you," said Newton, reluctantly.
Liddell laughed scornfully. "And you?" turning to Katherine.
"I have no doubt you are my cousin George."
"Right! As to that fellow Tom—he would never have hurt me, but I am sure he robbed me, especially if he thought I was dead. His game was to hold himself harmless whether I lived or died, only he ought not to have committed himself to seeing me buried. I found him out in Liverpool, and gave him a fright, for he really believed me dead. Now, cousin, I hope you understand that I mean to take every farthing of my father's fortune. He never did me much good in my life, nor my poor mother either, and I am determined to get all I can out of what he has left behind him. But I never dreamed he could pass away without taking care that nothing should come to me. It is strange that your mother and my uncle should make no fresh attempt to discover me."
"We had looked upon you as dead for years, and my father had died before the news of your supposed murder reached us." Katherine could hardly steady her voice; she was burning to get away. "I beg you will not resent the fact of my most unconscious usurpation. I would not do anything unjust." She stopped, remembering what shehaddone. Surely the punishment was coming quick upon her.
"Ay," said George Liddell, looking sternly at her. "It is a bitter pill for a fine lady like you to swallow, to find a ragged outcast like me thrusting you from the place you have no right to; where my poor little wild untutored girl will take her stand in spite of you all."
"From what I have heard, I do not think my father or mother ever treated you as an outcast," said Katherine, with quiet dignity; adding, as she rose to leave them, "You seem so irritated against me I will leave you with Mr. Newton, who will, I know, act as a true friend to both of us."
Mr. Newton, with a grave and troubled face, hastened after to seeher to her carriage. "This is an awful blow!" he said in a low voice.
"It is, no doubt. Do you think, as he is already rich, that he might do something for the boys? Then I should not care."
"The boys!"—impatiently. "You need not trouble about them when he has the power torobyou even of the trifle you inherit from your father by demanding the arrears of income since your uncle's death, as he has the right to do. Why, he can beggar you!"