"Well, I am exceedingly thankful I carry mine in my pocket," returned De Burgh, laughing. "Evidently Errington can do no wrong in your eyes. Let us wish him success in his wooing. So I am not to be your escort to Sandbourne? You ought to let me be your courier, I have knocked about so much. I thought I'd take to the road in the modern sense, when I came to my last sou, if the poor old lord had not died. Now I am going to be a pattern man as landlord, peer, and sportsman. Can't give up that, you know."
"I do not see why you should."
"I see you are looking at the clock; that means I am staying too long. You don't know how delightful it is to sit here talking to you, without any third person to bore us."
"I don't mean to be rude, Lord de Burgh, but you see I have letters to write for my chief."
"The deuce you have! It is too awful to see you in slavery."
"Very pleasant, easy slavery."
"So this chief of yours gives parties, receptions, at homes. Why doesn't she ask me?"
"I am sure she would if she knew of your existence."
"Do you mean to say you have never mentioned me to her, nor enlarged upon my many delightful and noble qualities?"
"I am ashamed to say I have not."
Lord de Burgh rose slowly and reluctantly. "Are you going to bring the boys here?"
"No; Miss Payne has most kindly invited them to stay with her. As yet she has not found any one to replace me. Poor little souls, I shall be glad when their holidays are over, for I fear they are not the same joy to Miss Payne as they are to me."
"Ah! believe me, you want some help in bringing up a couple of boys. Just fancy what Cis will be six or seven years hence. Why, he'll play the devil if he hasn't a strong hand over him."
"I don't believe it!" cried Katherine, smiling. "Why should he be worse than other boys?"
"Why should he be better?"
"Well, I can but do my best for them," said Katherine with a sigh.
"I am a brute to prophesy evil, when you have enough to contend with already," cried De Burgh, taking her hand, and looking into her eyes with an expression she could not misunderstand.
"You must not exaggerate my troubles," returned Katherine, with a sweet bright smile on her lips and in her eyes that thanked him for his sympathy, even while she gently withdrew her hand.
"I wish you would let me help you," said De Burgh; and as her lips parted to reply, he went on, hastily: "No, no; don't answer—not yet, at least. You will only say something disagreeable, in spite of your charming lips. Now I'll not intrude on you any longer. I suppose there is no objection to my calling on the young gentlemen at Miss Payne's, and taking them to a circus, or Madame Tussaud's, or any other dissipation suited to their tender years?"
"My dear Lord de Burgh, what an infliction for you! and howvery good of you to think of them! Pray do not trouble about them."
"I understand," said De Burgh. "I'll leave my card for your chief below; and be sure you don't forget me when you are sending out cards. By-the-way, I have a pressing invitation to Castleford. When I write to refuse I'll say I have seen you, and that I am going to take charge of the boys during the holidays."
"No, no; pray do not, Lord de Burgh," cried Katherine, eagerly. "You know Ada, and—"
"Are you ashamed to have me as a coadjutor?" interrupted De Burgh, laughing. "Trust me; I will be prudent. Good-by for the present."
Katherine stood in silent thought for a few moments after he had gone. She fully understood the meaning of his visit; though there had been little or nothing of the lover in his tone. He had come as soon as possible to place himself and all he had at her disposal. He was perfectly sincere in his desire to win her for his wife, and she almost regretted she could not return his affection: it might be true affection—something beyond and above the dominant whim of an imperious nature. And what a solution to all her difficulties! But it was impossible she could overcome the repulsion which the idea of marriage with any man she did not love inspired. There was to her but one in the world to whom she could hold allegiance, andhewas forbidden by all sense of self-respect and modesty. How was it that, strive as she might to fill her mind to his exclusion, the moment she was off guard the image of Errington rose up clear and fresh, pervading heart and imagination, and dwarfing every other object?
"How miserably, contemptibly weak I am, and have always been! Why did I not stifle this wretched, overpowering attraction in the beginning?" Ay! but when did it begin?
This is a sort of question no heart can answer. Who can foresee that the tiny spring, forcing its way up among the stones and heather of a lonely hill-side, will grow into the broad river, which may carry peace and prosperity on its rolling tide to the lands below, or overwhelm them with destructive floods, according to the forces which feed it and the barriers which hedge it in?
Again the spring sunshine was lending perennial youth even to London's dingy streets, and making the very best winter garments look dim and shabby. Hunting was over, and Colonel Ormonde found himself by the will of his wife, once more established in London lodgings—of a dingier and obscurer order than those in which they had enjoyed last season.
Mrs. Ormonde was neither intellectually nor morally strong, but she had one reflex ingredient in her nature, which was to her botha shield and spear. She knew what she wanted, and was perfectly unscrupulous as to the means of getting it. A woman who is pleasantly indifferent to the wants and wishes of her associates, if they happen to clash with her own, is tolerably sure to have her own way on the whole. Now and then, to be sure, she comes to grief; but in her general success these failures can be afforded.
When first the tidings of George Liddell's return and his assertion of his rights reached her, she was terrified and undone by Colonel Ormonde's fury against Katherine, herself, her boys, every one. In short, that gallant officer thought he had done a generous and manly thing, when he married the piquant little widow who had attracted him, although she could only meet her personal expenses and those of her two sons, without contributing to the general house-keeping. This sense of his own magnanimity, backed by the consciousness that it did not cost him too dear, had kept Colonel Ormonde in the happiest of moods for the first years of his married life. Terrible was the awakening from the dream of his own good luck and general "fine-fellowism"; and heavily would the punishment have fallen on his wife had she been a sensitive or high-minded woman. Being, however, admirably suited to the partner of her life, she looked round, as soon as the first burst of despair was over, to see how she could make the best of her position.
She was really vexed and irritated to find how little tenderness or regard her husband felt for her, for she had always believed that he was greatly devoted to her. To both of them the outside world was all in all, and on this Mrs. Ormonde counted largely. Colonel Ormonde could not put her away or lock her up because the provision made by Katherine for the boys failed her, so while she was mistress of Castleford she must have dresses and carriages and consideration. Knowing herself secure on these points, she fearlessly adopted the system of counter-irritation she described to Katherine; and to do her justice, her consciousness that the boys were safe under the care of their aunt, who would be sure to treat them well and kindly, made her the more ready to brave the dangers of her husband's wrath.
"He must behave well before people, or men will say he is a 'cad' to visit his disappointment on his poor little simple-hearted wife," she thought. "He knows that. Then it is an enormous relief that Katherine still clings to the boys, poor dears! She really is a trump; so I have only myself to think of; and Duke shall find that his shabbiness and ill-temper do him no good. It's like drawing his teeth to get my quarter's allowance, beggarly as it is, from him."
Colonel Ormonde's reflections, as he composed a letter to his steward, were by no means soothing. Though it was all but impossible for him to hold his tongue respecting his disappointment, whenever a shade of difference occurred between him and his wife, he was uncomfortably conscious that he often acted like a brute toward the mother of his boy, of whom he was so proud; he was not therefore the more disposed to rule his hasty, inconsiderate temper. The fact that Mrs. Ormonde had her own methods of paying him back disposed him to respect her, and it could not be doubted that in time the friction of their natures would rub off the angles of each, and theywould settle down into tolerable harmony, whereas a proud, true-hearted woman in her place would have been utterly crushed and never forgiven.
Ormonde, then, was meditating on his undeserved misfortunes, when the door was somewhat suddenly and vehemently pushed open, and Mrs. Ormonde came in, her eyes sparkling, and evidently in some excitement.
"What's the matter?" asked her husband, not too amiably. "Has that rascally, intruding fellow Liddell kicked the bucket?"
"No; but whom do you think I saw as I was leaving Mrs. Bennett's in Hyde Park Square, you know?"
"How can I tell? The policeman perhaps."
"Nonsense, Duke! I had just come down the steps, and was turn turning toward Paddington, for, as it was early, I thought I would take the omnibus to Oxford Circus (see how careful I am!), when I saw a beautiful dark brougham, drawn by splendid black horse—the coachman, the whole turn-out, quite first rate—come at a dashing pace towards me. I recognized Lord de Burgh inside, and who do you think was sitting beside him?"
"God knows! The Saratoffski perhaps."
"Really, Ormonde, I am astonished at your mentioning that dreadful woman to me.
"Oh! are you? Well,whowas De Burgh's companion?"
"Charlie! my Charlie! and Cis was on the front seat. Cis saw me, for he clapped his hands and pointed as they flew past. What do you think of that?"
"By George!" he exclaimed, in capital letters. "I believe he is still after Katherine. If so, she'll have the devil's own luck."
"Now listen to me. As Wilton Street was quite near, I went on there to gather what I could from Miss Payne. She was at home, and a little less sour and silent then usual. She was sorry, she said, the boys were out. They have been with her for a week, and Lord de Burgh had been most kind. He had taken them to the Zoological Gardens and Madame Tussaud's, and just now had called for them to go to the circus. Isn't it wonderful? Do try and picture De Burgh at Madame Tussaud's."
"There is only one way of accounting for such strange conduct," returned the Colonel, thoughtfully. "He means to marry your sister. This would change the face of affairs considerably."
"Yes; it would be delightful."
"I'm not so sure of that," returned Ormonde, seriously. "Now that he is in love—and you know he is all fire and tow—he makes a fuss about the boys; but wait till he is married, and he will try to shift them back on you. Why should he put up with his wife's nephews any more than I do withmywife's sons?"
"Because he is more in love, and a good deal richer," returned Mrs. Ormonde.
"More in love! Bosh! In the middle of the fever, you mean. Of course that will pass over."
"Really men are great brutes," observed Mrs. Ormonde, philosophically.
"And women awful fools," added her husband.
"Well, perhaps so," she returned, with a slight smile and a sharp glance.
"Seriously, though," resumed Colonel Ormonde, "it's all very well for Katherine to make a good match, and if De Burgh is fool enough to be in earnest, it will be a splendid match for her; but things may be made rather rough for me. That fellow De Burgh has the queerest crotchets, and doesn't hesitate to air them. He'd think nothing of slapping my shoulder in the club before a dozen members, and asking me if I meant to leave my wife's brats on his hands."
"Do you really think so? Oh, Katherine would never let him. She dearly loves the boys."
"Wait till she has a son of her own."
"Even so. She has her faults, I know. Her temper is rather violent, her ideas are too high-flown and nonsensical, and she won't take advice, but she never would injureme, I am sure of that."
An inarticulate grunt from Colonel Ormonde, as he fixed his double glass on his nose and took up his pen again.
"Duke," resumed Mrs. Ormonde, after a pause, "don't you think I had better go and see Katherine? You know we never had any quarrel, and that Mrs. Needham she lives with gives very nice parties."
"Parties! By Jove! you'd go to old Nick for a party. What good will it do you to meet a pack of beggarly scribblers?"
"They may not have money, Duke, but they havemanners, and something to say for themselves," she retorted. "Never mind about the parties. Don't you think I would better call on Katherine?"
"Do as you like but consider that she has behaved very badly—with extreme insolence; but I don't want to influence you." This in a tone of magnanimity, as he began to write with an air of profound attention.
Mrs. Ormonde made a swift contemptuous grimace at his back, and said, in mellifluous tones: "Very well, dear. I may as well go at once, and perhaps she will come with me to that dressmaking ally of hers, Miss Trant. I hear she is raising her prices, but she will not do so to me if I am with her original patroness."
"Oh, do as you like; only don't send me in a long milliner's bill."
"I am sure, Duke, my clothes never cost you much."
"Not so far, but the future looks rather blue."
To this she made no reply. Leaving the room noiselessly, she retired to give a touch of kohl to her eyes, a dust of pearl powder to her cheeks, and then started on her mission of inquiry and reconciliation.
It is not to be denied that Katherine was greatly touched by De Burgh's thoughtful kindness to her boys. She had been a good deal troubled about their holidays, for she did not like to take full advantage of Mrs. Needham's kind permission to absent herself as much as she liked in order to be with them, and she well knew that in Miss Payne's very orderly establishment the two restless, activelittle fellows would be a most discordant ingredient. Above all, she wanted them to have a very happy holiday, as she feared their cloudless sunny days were numbered.
The second morning, therefore, after she had deposited them in Wilton Street, when she went to inquire for them, and found that Lord de Burgh had called and carried them off to have luncheon with him first, and to spend the afternoon at the Zoological Gardens after, she could hardly credit her ears.
"I must say," observed Miss Payne, "that I am agreeably surprised. I had no idea Lord de Burgh was so straightforward and well-disposed a man. A little abrupt, and would not stand any nonsense, I fancy, but a sterling character. He has tact too. He always spoke of the boys as his cousin Colonel Ormonde's step-sons. He might be a good friend to them, Katherine."
"No doubt," she replied, thoughtfully.
"He will send his butler or house-steward to take them to Kew Gardens to-morrow; but I dare say he will call and tell you himself."
"He is wonderfully good," said Katherine, feeling puzzled and oppressed. "I will go back, then, as fast as I can, and get my work done by six o'clock; then I may spend the evening here with you and the boys."
"Pray do, if you can manage it."
Lord de Burgh's remarkable conduct troubled Katherine a good deal. How ought she to act? Certainly he would not put himself out of the way for Cis and Charlie, had he not wished to please her, or really interested himself in them for her sake. Ought she to encourage him by accepting these very useful and kindly attentions? How could she reject them without saying as plainly by action as in words, "I know you are pressing your suit upon me, and I will not have it," which, after all, might be a mistake; besides, she would thus deprive her nephews of much pleasure. She could not come to a conclusion; she must let herself drift. But the question tormented her, and it was with an effort she banished it, and applied herself to her task of arranging her chief's notes.
Mrs. Needham was exceedingly busy that afternoon, and did not go out, as she had some provincial and colonial letters to finish, and had a couple of engagements in the evening. She and her secretary therefore wrote diligently till about half-past five, when Ford, the smart parlor-maid, announced that "the gentleman" and two little boys were in the drawing-room.
"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Needham, slipping off her glasses. "This is growing interesting. I shall go and speak to Lord de Burgh myself. Besides, I want to see your boys, my dear. How funny it sounds!"
"Do, Mrs. Needham. I will come."
Lord de Burgh was glaring absently out of the window, and the boys were eagerly examining the diverse and sundry objects thickly scattered around. They had wonderfully dirty hands and faces, their jackets were splashed as if with some foaming beverage, the knees of their knickerbockers were grubby with gravel and grass, and they had generally the aspect of having done wildly what they listed for some hours.
"Lord de Burgh, I suppose?" said Mrs. Needham, in loud and cheerful accents. "I am very pleased to see you" (De Burgh bowed); "and you, my dears—I am very glad to see you too, especially if you will be so good as not to touch my china!"
"We haven't broken anything!" cried Cecil, coming up to her and giving her a dingy little paw, while he stared in her face. "Where is auntie?"
"She'll be here directly. This is Charlie: what a sweet little fellow! Why, your eyes are like your aunt's."
"Do you think so?" said De Burgh, drawing near. "They are lighter—a good deal lighter."
"Perhaps so. The shape and expression are like, though. And so you have been to see the lions and tigers?"
"And the bears," put in Charlie.
"Isn't Lord de Burgh kind to take you—"
"Heis!he's a jolly chap!" cried Cecil, warmly. "I shouldn't mind living with him."
"Nor I either," added Charlie.
Here Katherine made her appearance, a conscious look in her eyes, a flitting blush on her cheek. The boys immediately flew to hug and kiss her, barely allowing her to shake hands with De Burgh. Then, when she sat down on the sofa, Charlie established himself on her knee and Cecil knelt on the sofa, the better to put his arms round her neck.
"What dreadfully dirty little boys! What have you been doing to yourselves?"
"Oh, we have been on the elephant and the camel, and in the ostrich cart. Then Charlie tumbled down in the monkey-house. Oh, how funny the monkeys are! and he" (pointing to Lord de Burgh) "took us to dinner. Such a beautiful dinner in a lovely room! He says he will take us to the circus."
"I'll ask him to take you too, auntie!" cried Charlie.
"Oh yes!" echoed Cecil. "You'll take her, Lord de Burgh, won't you? I don't think auntie ever saw a circus."
"If you promise to beverygood, and that your aunt too will be quiet and well-behaved, I may be induced to let her come," returned De Burgh, his deep-set eyes glittering with fun and anticipated pleasure.
"Thank you," said Katherine, laughing, as soon as her delighted nephew ceased kissing her.
"And you'll come?—the day after to-morrow? I will call for the boys, bring them round here."
"If I have nothing special—" she began.
"Certainly not; I will take care of that," cried Mrs. Needham, "It is such a great thing to get a little amusement for the poor little fellows, and so very kind of Lord de Burgh to take so much trouble."
"It is indeed. I really don't know how to thank you enough," said Katherine. "Mrs. Needham, I must really take them to wash their hands; they are so terribly dirty!"
"No; ring the bell; Ford will manage them nicely, and bring them back in a few minutes." Mrs. Needham rang energetically as she spoke, and the young gentlemen were speedily marched off.
"I am afraid I am not a wise child's guide," said De Burgh, laughing; "but they ran and tumbled about till they got into an awful pickle. They are really capital little fellows, and most amusing. When do they go back to school?"
"In about ten days—on the 25th. I assure you I quite dread their going to this Wandsworth place. They have been asking, entreating me to let them go back to Sandbourne, but I think Cis at last grasps the idea that it is a question of money."
"It's an early initiation for him," observed De Burgh, as if to himself. Then, eagerly: "You'll be sure to come with us on Friday, Miss Liddell? The boys will enjoy the performance ever so much more if you are with them."
Katherine looked for half a second at Mrs. Needham, who nodded and frowned in a very energetic and affirmative way. "I shall be very glad to enjoy it with them," she said, hesitatingly, "if Mrs. Needham can spare me."
"Of course I can,"—briskly. "Lord de Burgh, if you care for music—not severe classical music, you know—ballads, recitatives, and that sort of thing—Hyacinth O'Hara, the new tenor, and Mr. Merrydew, that wonderful mimic and singer, are coming to me next Tuesday; I shall be delighted to see you."
"Not so delighted, I am sure, as I shall be to come," returned De Burgh, with unusual suavity.
"Very well—half past nine. Don't be late, and don't forget."
"No danger of forgetting, I assure you."
"By-the-bye," resumed Mrs. Needham, as if seized with a happy thought, "Angela Bradley receives on Sunday afternoons at their delightful villa at Wimbledon all through the season. Her first 'at home' will be the Sunday after next. I am sure she will be delighted to see any friend of Miss Liddell's."
"If Miss Liddell will be so good as to answer for me, I shall be most happy to present myself. To make sure of being properly backed up, suppose I call here for Miss Liddell and yourself, and and drive you down?
"Is it not rather far off to make arrangements?" asked Katherine, growing somewhat uneasy at thus drifting into a succession of of engagements with the man she half liked, half dreaded.
"Far off!" echoed Mrs. Needham. "You don't call ten days far off? But I must run away and finish my letter. A journalist is the slave of her pen. Good morning, Lord de Burgh. I'll send the boys to you, Katherine."
"That is an admirable and meritorious woman," and De Burgh, drawing a chair beside the sofa where Katherine sat. "Why are you so savagely opposed to anything like friendly intercourse with me—so reluctant to let me do anything for you? Do you think I am such a cad as to think thatanythingI could do would entitle me to consider you under an obligation?"
"No, indeed, Lord de Burgh! I believe you to be too true a gentleman for—"
"For what? I see you are afraid of giving me what is called, in the slang of the matrimonial market, encouragement. Just put all that out of your mind, Let me have a little enjoyment, howeverthings may end, and, believe me, I'll never blame you. I am not going to trouble you with my hopes and wishes, not at least for some time; and then, whatever the upshot, on my head be it."
"But I cannot bear to give you pain."
"Then don't—"
"Auntie, we are quite clean. Won't you come back to tea at Miss Payne's? Do make her come, Lord de Burgh."
"Ah, it is beyond my powers to make her do anything."
"I cannot come now, my darlings; but I will be with you about half past six, and we'll have a game before you go to bed."
"Come along, boys; we have intruded on your aunt long enough. Don't forget the circus on Friday, Miss Liddell."
Another hug from Cis and Charlie, a slight hand pressure from their newly found playfellow, and Katherine was left to her own reflections.
The expedition to the circus was most successful. It was on his way from Wilton Street to call for Katherine, on this occasion, that De Burgh encountered Mrs. Ormonde. Need we say that she lost no time in making the proposed call on her sister-in-law; unfortunately Katherine was out; so Mrs. Ormonde was reduced to writing a requisition for an interview with her boys and their aunt.
This was accordingly planned at Miss Payne's house, and Mrs. Ormonde was quite charming, playful, affectionate, tearful, repentant, apologetic for "Ormonde," and deeply moved at parting from her boys, who where somewhat awed by this display of feeling. Still she did not succeed in breaking the "cold chain of silence" which Katherine persisted in "hanging" over the events of the past week.
"So De Burgh took the boys about everywhere?" said Mrs. Ormonde, as Katherine went downstairs with her when she was leaving, and they were alone together. "It is something new for him to play the part of children's maid; and, do you know, he only left cards on us, and never asked to come in."
"He was always good-natured," returned Katherine, with some embarrassment; "and, you remember, he used to notice Cis and Charlie at Castleford a good deal."
"Yes; afteryoucame," significantly. "Never mind, Katie dear, I am not going to worry you with troublesome questions; but I am sure no one in the world would be more delighted than myselfdidyou make a brilliant match."
"Believe me, there will never be anything brilliant about me, Ada."
"Well, we'll see. When do you take the boys to school?
"On Wednesday; should you like to come and see the place?"
"I should like it of all things, but I mustn't, dear."
"I do hope the school may prove all I expect; but the change will be bad for Charlie. He had lost nearly all his nervousness; strange teachers and a new system may bring it back."
"Oh, I hope not. Does he still stop short and speechless, and then laugh as if it were a good joke, when he is puzzled or frightened?"
"Very rarely, I believe. I will write to you the day after I leavethe boys at Wandsworth. They don't like going at all, poor dears.'
"Well, we shall not be much longer in town, I am sorry to say, and I want a few things from Miss Trant before I go. I suppose she will not raise her prices to me?"
"Oh no, I am sure she will not."
It was a bleak, blowy day when Katherine took the boys to school, and on returning she went straight to Miss Payne, who had promised to have tea ready for her.
Somewhat to her regret, she found only Bertie Payne, who explained that his sister had been called away about some business connected with a lady with whom she was trying to come to terms respecting her house, which she had now decided on letting.
"And how did you part with the boys?" he asked when he had given her a cup of tea and brought her the most comfortable chair.
"It was very hard to leave them," returned Katherine, whose eyes looked suspiciously like recently shed tears. "The place did not look half so nice to-day as I thought it was. Everything is rough and ready. The second master, too, is a harsh, severe-looking man. Of course he has not much authority; still, had I seen him, I do not think I should have agreed to send Cis and Charlie there; but now I am committed to a quarter. I cannot afford to indulge whims, and, at all events, they are within an easy distance. Charlie looked so white, and clung to me as if he would never let me go! How hard life is!"
"This portion of it is, and wisely so. We must set our affections on things above. I have been learning this lesson of late as I never thought I should have to learn it."
"You?—you who are so good, so unworldly? Oh, Mr. Payne, what do you mean? You are looking ill and worn."
"I have been fighting a battle of late," he returned, with his sweet, patient smile, "and I have conquered. The right road has been shown to me, the right way, and I am determined to walk in it."
"What are you going to do?" asked Katherine, with a feeling of alarm.
"I am going to take orders, and join the missionary ranks, either in India or China. Work in England was growing too easy—too heavenly sweet—to be any longer saving to my own soul."
"But Mr. Payne, don't you see that your own poor country people have the first claim upon you—that you are leaving a work for which you are so wonderfully well suited, in which you are so successful? Oh, do think! Here you leave people of your own race, whose wants, whose characters you can understand, to run away to creatures of another climate—a different stock—whose natures, inmy opinion, unfit them for a faith such as ours, and who never, never will accept our religion!"
"Hush!" cried Payne, in an excited tone. "Do not torture me by showing the appalling gulf which separates us. Strange that a heart so tender as yours to all mere human miseries should yet be adamant against the Saviour's loving touch. This has been my cruel cross, and my only safety lies in flight, wretched man that I am!"
"I am dreadfully distressed about you, Mr. Payne. Does your sister know? It is really unkind to her."
"That must not weigh with me. Even if the right hand offends you, 'cut it off,' is the command."
"At all events, you must study, or go though some preparation, before you are ordained, and perhaps in that interval you may change your views. I do hope you will. I should be indeed sorry to lose sight of a true friend like yourself."
"A friend!" he returned, his brow contracting as if with pain. "You do not know the depths of my selfishness——"
The entrance of Miss Payne interrupted the conversation, and Bertie immediately changing the subject, Katherine understood that he did not as yet intend to speak to his sister of his new plans.
To Miss Payne, Katherine had again to describe her parting with her nephews, and she, in her turn, talked comfortably of her affairs. She thought of going abroad for a short time should she let her house, as nothing very eligible offered in the shape of a young lady to chaperon. Indeed she was somewhat tired of that sort of life, etc., etc. At length Katherine bade them adieu, and returned to her present abode with a very sad heart.
The parting with her nephews had been a sore trial. The idea of Bertie, her kind friend, whose sympathetic companionship had helped her so much to overcome the poignancy of her first grief for her dear mother, going away to banishment, and perhaps death, at the hands of those whose souls he went to save, caused her the keenest pain; and for nearly a fortnight she had not seen Errington! She could not bring herself to ask where he was, and no one had happened to mention him. This was really better. His absence should be a help to forgetfulness; but somehow it was not. He was so vividly before her eyes; his voice sounded so perpetually in her heart.
Why could she not think thus of De Burgh, whose devotion to her was evident, and whom, in spite of herself as it seemed, she was, to a certain degree, encouraging?
She felt unutterably helpless and oppressed. Moreover, she was distressed by the consciousness that the small reserve fund which she had with difficulty preserved, could barely meet unexpected demands such as removing the boys from school, if necessary, an attack of illness, a dozen contingencies, any or all of which were possible, if not imminent.
Such a mood made her feel peculiarly unfit to shine at Mrs. Needham's reception. Still it was better to be obliged to talk and to think about others than to brood perpetually on her own troubles. So she arrayed herself in one of the pretty soft grey demi-toilettedresses which remained among her well-stocked wardrobe, and prepared to assist her chief in receiving her guests, who soon flocked in so rapidly as to make separate receptions impossible. Miss Bradley came early, arrayed in white silk and lace with diamond stars in her coronet of thickly-plaited red hair. She was looking radiantly well—so well and unusually animated that her aspect struck sudden terror into Katherine's heart; something had gladdened her heart to give that expression of joyous softness to her eyes. But it was weak and contemptible to let this sudden fear overmaster her, so she strove to be amused and interested in the conversation of those she knew, and her acquaintance had increased enormously since she came to reside with Mrs. Needham.
Presently Katherine caught sight of a stately head above the general level of the crowd, and a pair of grave eyes evidently seeking something. Who was Errington looking for? Miss Bradley, of course! As she arrived at this conclusion, De Burgh appeared at the head of the stairs, looking, as he always did, extremely distinguished—his dark strong face showing in remarkable contrast to the simpering young minstrels, pale young poets, and long-haired professors who formed the larger half of the male guests.
"Well, Miss Liddell, are you quite well and flourishing? Why, it is quite three days since I saw you," he asked, and his eyes dwelt on her with a look of utter restful satisfaction—a look that disturbed her.
"Is it, indeed? They seem all rolled into a single disagreeable one to me."
"Tell me all about it," said De Burgh, in a low confidential tone. "Must you stand here in the gangway? it's awfully hot and crowded."
Before she could reply, Errington forced his way through the crowd, and addressed her.
"I began to fear I should not find you, Miss Liddell," he said, with a pleasant smile. "I have been away for some time—though perhaps you were not aware of it."
"I was aware we did not see you as frequently as usual. Where have you been?"
"On a secret and delicate mission which taxed all my diplomatic skill, for I had to deal with an extremely crotchetty Scotchman."
"You make me feel desperately curious," said Katherine, languidly.
"How do you do, Errington?" put in De Burgh. "I heard of you in Edinburgh last week;" and they exchanged a few words. Then, to Katherine's annoyance, De Burgh said, with an air of proprietorship, "I am going to take Miss Liddell out of this mob, to have tea and air, if we can get any. I have to hear news, too," he added, significantly.
Errington grew very grave, and drew back immediately with a slight bow, as if he accepted a dismissal.
There was no help for it, so Katherine took De Burgh's offered arm and went downstairs.
"I wonder what the secret mission could have been?" said Katherine, when they found themselves in the tea-room.
"God knows! I wonder Errington did not go in for diplomacy when he smashed up. He is just the man for protocols, and solemn mysteries, and all that."
"Men cannot jump into diplomatic appointments, can they?"
"No, I suppose not. I hear some of Errington's political articles have attracted Lord G——'s notice; they say he'll be in Parliament one of these days. Well, he deserves to win, if that sort of thing be worth winning."
"Of course it is. Have you no ambition, Lord de Burgh? Were I a man, I should be very ambitious."
"I have no doubt you would; and if you had a husband you'd drive him up the ladder at the bayonet's point."
"Poor man! I pity him beforehand."
"I don't," returned De Burgh, shortly. "Do you know, I have just been dining with Ormonde and his wife, not as their guest, but at Lady Mary Vincent's. Tell me, hasn't he behaved rather badly to you? I want to know, because I don't want to cut him without reason."
"Pray do not cut him on my account, Lord de Burgh. Colonel Ormonde has very naturally, for a man of his calibre, felt disgusted at my inability to carry out my original arrangements respecting my nephews, and he showed his displeasure, after his kind, with remarkable frankness; but I am not the least angry, and I beg you will make no difference for my sake."
"If you really wish it—" he paused, and then went on—"Mrs. Ormonde whined a good deal to me in a corner about her affection for you, her hard fate, Ormonde's brutality, etc., etc.; she is aruseelittle devil."
"Poor Ada! I fancy she has not had a pleasant time of it. Had she been a woman of feeling, it would have been too dreadful...."
"Well, you make your mind easy on that score. Now, what about the boys?"
Katherine was vexed to find how impossible it was to talk of them with composure; she was unhinged in some unaccountable way, and Lord de Burgh's ill-repressed tenderness made her feel nervous. At length she asked him to come upstairs and look for Mrs. Needham, as her head ached, and she thought she would like to retire if she could be spared.
"Yes, you had better—you don't seem up to much," he returned, pressing her hand slightly against his side. "I can't bear to see you look worried and ill. That's not a civil speech, I suppose; but, ill or well, youknowyour face is always the sweetest to me, and I am always dying to know what you are thinking of. There, I will not worry you now; but shall you be 'fit' for this function on Sunday?"
"Oh, yes, quite."
"I am obliged to run down to Wales—some matters there want the master's eye, they tell me—but I shall return Friday or Saturday. By the way, I wish you would introduce me to this wonderful Angela of Mrs. Needham's."
"Certainly."
On entering the drawing-room, the first forms that met their eyes were Errington and Miss Bradley; she was sitting in a large crimson velvet chair, against the back of which Errington was leaning. Angela was looking up at him with a peculiarly happy, absorbed expression, while his head was bent towards her.
"She is deucedly handsome," said De Burgh, critically, "and much too pleasantly engaged to be interrupted. I can wait."
"Yes, I think it would be unkind to break in on such a conversation. Oh, here is Mrs. Needham! Do you want me very much, Mrs. Needham? because, if not, I should like to go to bed. I have a tiresome headache."
"Go by all means, my dear; you are looking like a ghost; they are all talking and amusing each other now, and don't want you or me." "Good night, then," said Katherine, giving her hand to De Burgh, and she glided away.
"What a lot she takes out of herself!" said De Burgh, looking after her.
"She does indeed," cried Mrs. Needham; "she is so unselfish. I hate to see her worried. I wonder if he has proposed?" she thought.
"I think he is pretty far gone. Now pray don't run away just now; Merrydew is going to give one of his musical sketches, and then I want to introduce you to Professor Gypsum. He thinks there ought to be a rich coal seam on your South Wales property; he is a most intelligent, accomplished man."
"Very well—with pleasure," said De Burgh, complacently.
It was rather a relief to be quite sure that De Burgh was safe out of the way for a few days. His presence always disturbed her with a mixed sense of pain and self-reproach. He gave her no opening to warn him off, yet she felt that he lost no opportunity of pushing his mines up to the defences; and she liked him—liked him sincerely—always believing there was much undeveloped goodness under his rough exterior.
Sunday came quickly, for the intervening days had been very fully occupied, and thus Katherine had been saved from too much thought of the boys and their possible trials.
It was a soft, lovely spring day. The lilacs and laburnums had put on their ball-dresses for the season, and there was a fresh, youthful feeling in the air. The villa of which Angela was the happy mistress was one of the few old places standing on the edge of the common at Wimbledon, and boasting mossy green lawns, huge cedar trees, and delightful shrubberies, paths leading through a well-disposed patch of plantation, and a fine view from the windows of the deep red-brick mansion, with its copings, window-heads, and pediments of white stone.
Katherine started with a brave determination to throw off dull care and enjoy herself, if possible—why should she not? Life had many sides, and, though the present was gloomy, there was no reason why its clouds should not hide bright sunshine which lay awaiting the future. She had manœuvred that Mrs. Needham should join an elderly couple of their acquaintance in an open carriage, and so avoided appearing in Lord de Burgh's elegant equipage.
The grounds were already dotted with gaily dressed groups; for, although there were no formally invited guests, Miss Bradley's Sundays were largely attended by her extensive circle of acquaintance, and this first Sabbath of really fine spring weather brought a larger number than usual.
"I am glad you put on that pretty black and white dress," whispered Mrs. Needham, as they alighted and went into the hall. "I see everyone is in their best bibs and tuckers;—isn't it a lovely house! Ah! many a poor author's brain has paid toll to provide all this."
"I suppose so."
"Miss Bradley is in the conservatory," said a polite butler, and into a deliciously fragrant conservatory they were ushered.
"Very glad to see you, Miss Liddell," said Angela, kindly, when she had greeted Mrs. Needham. "This is your first visit to the Court. Do you know I wanted to ask you to come down to us for a few days; but, when I looked for you at Mrs. Needham's the other night, you had vanished, and since I have been so much taken up, as I will explain later, that I have been quite unable to write. I hope you will manage to pay us a visit next week; the air here is most reviving."
"You are too good, Miss Bradley," returned Katherine, touched by her kind tone. "If Mrs. Needham can spare me, I shall of course be delighted to come;" and she resolved mentally that she shouldnotbe spared.
"Major Urquhart," continued Miss Bradley, turning to a very tall, thin, soldierly-looking man, who might once have been fair, but was now burnt to brickdust hue, with long tawny moustache and thick overhanging eyebrows of the same color, "pray take Miss Liddell round the grounds, and show her my favorite fernery."
Major Urquhart bowed low and presented his arm.
"I see," continued Angela, "that Mrs. Needham is already absorbed by a dozen dear friends."
"You have not been here before," said Major Urquhart, in a deep hollow voice.
"Never."
"Charming place! immensely improved since I went to India five years ago."
"Miss Bradley has great taste," remarked Katherine.
"Wonderful—astonishing; she has made all this fernery since I was here last."
Then there was a long pause, and a few more sentences expressive of admiration were exchanged, and somehow Katherine began to feel that her companion was rather bored and preoccupied, so she turned her steps towards the house, intending to release him.
At the further side of the fernery, in a pretty path between green banks, they suddenly met Errington face to face.
"Miss Bradley wants you, Urquhart," he said, as soon as they had exchanged salutations. "You may leave Miss Liddell in my charge, if she will permit." Major Urquhart bowed himself off, and Errington continued, "You would not suspect that was a very distinguished officer."
"I don't know; he seems very silent and inanimate."
"Well, I assure you he is a very fine fellow, and did great deedsin the Mutiny. But come, the lawn is looking quite picturesque in the sunshine, with the groups of people scattered about. It would be perfect were it sleeping in the tranquil silence of a restful Sabbath day."
"Are you not something of a hermit in your tastes?" asked Katherine, looking up at him with one of her sunny smiles.
"By no means. I like the society of my fellow-men, but I like a spell of solitude every now and then, as a rest and refreshment on the dusty road of life."
"I begin to think peace the greatest boon heaven can bestow."
"Yes, after the late vicissitudes, it must seem to you the greatest good. Let us sit down under this cedar; there is a pretty peep across the common to the blue distance. We might be a hundred miles from London, everything is so calm."
They sat silent for a few moments, a sense of peace and safety stealing over Katherine's heart.
Suddenly Errington turned to her, and said,
"Our friend De Burgh can scarcely know himself in his new condition."
"He seems remarkably at home, however. I hope he will distinguish himself as an enlightened and benevolent legislator."
"He must be a good deal changed if he does. You have seen a great deal of him, I believe, since he returned to London?"
"I have seen him several times. He seems to get on with Mrs. Needham."
"With Mrs. Needham?" repeated Errington, in a slightly mocking tone, and elevating his eyebrows in a way that made Katherine blush for her uncandid remark.
"Well, Mrs. Needham seems to have taken immensely to him."
"I can understand that. De Burgh has wherewithal now to recommend him to most party-giving dowagers."
"That speech is not like you, Mr. Errington; you know my dear good chief is utterly uninfluenced by worldly considerations. Lord de Burgh has been very good and helpful to me with the boys, I assure you," said Katherine, feeling that she changed color under Errington's watchful eyes.
"Yes, I have no doubt he could be boundlessly kind where he wishes to please—more, I think heisa generous fellow; but—I am going to be ill-natured," he said, with a slight change of tone, "and, as you have allowed me the privilege of a friend, I must beg you to reflect that De Burgh is a man of imperious temper, given to somewhat reckless seeking of what he desires, and not too steady in his attachments. Though in every sense a man of honor, and by no means without heart, yet I fear as a companion he would be disturbing, if not——"
"Why do you warn me?" cried Katherine, growing somewhat pale. "And what has poor Lord de Burgh done to earn your disapprobation?"
"I know I am somewhat Quixotic and unguarded in speaking thus to you; but it would be affectation to say I did not perceive De Burgh's very natural motive. There is much about him that is attractive to women, apart from his exceptional fortune and position;but I doubt if he could make a woman like you happy. If the ease and luxury he could bestow ever prove tempting, I do not think that anything except sincere affection would enable you to surmount the difficulty of dealing with a character like his."
While Errington spoke with quiet but impressive earnestness, a perverse spirit entered into Katherine Liddell. Here was this man, sailing triumphantly on the crest of good fortune, about to ally himself to a woman, good, certainly, and suited to him, but also rich enough to set him above all care and money troubles, urging counsels of perfection onher. Why was she to be advised to reject a man who certainly loved her by one who only felt a temperate and condescending friendship for her? How could he judge what amount of influence De Burgh's affection for herself might give her?
"I ought to feel deeply grateful to you for overstepping the limits of conventionality in order to give me what is, no doubt, sound advice."
"Do you mean that as a rebuke?" asked Errington, leaning a little forward to look into her eyes. "Do you not think that a friendship, founded as ours is on most exceptional and unconventional circumstances, gives me a sort of right to speak of matters which may prove of the last importance to you? You cannot realize how deeply interested I am in your welfare, how ardently I desire your happiness."
The sincerity of his tone thrilled Katherine with pain and pleasure. It was delightful to hear him speak thus, yet it would be better for her never to hear his voice again.
"I daresay I am petulant," she said, looking down, "and you are generally right; but don't you think in this case you are looking too far ahead, and attributing motives to Lord de Burgh of which he may be entirely innocent?"
"Of that you are the best judge," returned Errington, coldly; and silence fell upon them—a silence which Katherine felt to be so awkward that she rose, saying,
"I must find Mrs. Needham; she will wonder where I am;" and, Errington making no objection, they strolled slowly towards the front of the house, where most of the visitors were standing or sitting about.
There they soon discovered Mrs. Needham, in lively conversation with Lord de Burgh, who was a good deal observed by those present as his name and position were well known to almost all of Mrs. Needham's set. He turned quickly to greet Katherine, and spoke not too cordially to Errington, who after some talk with Mrs. Needham, quietly withdrew, and kept rather closely to Angela's side.
The rest of the afternoon was spoiled for Katherine by a sense of irritation with Lord de Burgh, who scarcely left her, thereby making her so conspicuous that she could hardly refrain from telling him.
"What is the matter with you?" asked De Burgh, as they walked, together behind Mrs. Needham to the gate where their carriage awaited them. "Do you know you have hardly said a civil word to me—what have I done?"
"You are mistaken! I never meant to be uncivil, I am only tired, and I have rather a headache."
"You often have headaches. Are you sure the ache is in yourhead?"
"No, I am not," said Katherine, frankly. "Don't you know what it is to be out of sorts?"
"Don't I, though? If that's what ails you I can understand you well enough. I wish you would let me prescribe for you: a nice long wandering through Switzerland, over some old passes into Italy (they are more delicious than ever, now that they are deserted), and then a winter in Rome."
"Thank you," returned Katherine, laughing. "Perhaps you might also recommend horse exercise on an Arab steed."
"Yes, I should. You would look stunning in a habit."
"Dreams, idle dreams, Lord de Burgh. I shall be all right to-morrow."
"I intend to come and see you if you are," he returned, significantly.
"To-morrow I shall be out all the afternoon," said Katherine, quickly.
"Some other day then," he replied, with resolution.
"Good-morning, Lord de Burgh, or rather good evening, for it is seven o'clock," said Mrs. Needham. "Charming place, isn't it?"
"Very nice, indeed. I suppose I have the freedom of the house now, through your favor."
"Certainly; good-bye, come and see us soon."
"May I?" he whispered, as he handed Katherine into the carriage.
She smiled and shook her head, looking so sweet and arch that De Burgh could not help pressing her hand hard as he muttered something of which she could only catch the word "mischief."
"Well," said Mrs. Needham, when they had left the villa behind, and she had succeeded in wrapping a woollen scarf closely round her throat, for the evening had grown chill, "I knew I was right all along, and now old Bradley himself has as good as told me that Angela is engaged to Errington."
"Indeed!" said the lady, who shared their conveyance. "What did he say?"
"He was sitting with me on the lawn, and Miss Bradley went past between Errington and that tall military-looking man, who did not seem to know anyone; so I just remarked what a distinguished sort of person Mr. Errington was, and Bradley, looking after him in an exulting sort of way, said, "Distinguished! I believe you. That man, ma-am," (you know his style) "will be in the front rank before long. I recognized his power from the first, and, what's more, so did Angela. I am going to give a proof of my confidence in him that will astonish everyone; you'll hear of it in a week or two." Now what can that mean but that he is going to trust his daughter to him? You see, Errington is like a son of the house. I am heartily glad, for I have reason to know that he has been greatly attached to her a considerable time, and they are admirably suited."
"Well! he is a very lucky fellow; independent of all the money Bradley has made, this new magazine of his is a splendid property."
And Katherine, listening in silence, told herself that one chapter of her life was closed for ever.
A note from Mrs. Ormonde next morning informed Katherine that she had returned to Castleford, and recorded her deep regret that she could not call before leaving town, but that time was too short, although they had delayed their departure for a couple of days.
"We met Lord de Burgh at Lady Mary Vincent's; you can't think what a fuss she made about him. I remember when she would not let him inside her doors. He is older and more abrupt than ever. He told me he was going to meet you at Mrs. Needham's, and said hers was the only house in London worth going to. I suspect there is great fortune in store for you, Katie, and no friend will rejoice at it more warmly than I shall. Do write and tell me all about everything; it is frightfully dull down here."Your ever attached sister,"Ada."
Beyond a passing sensation of annoyance that De Burgh should make a display of his acquaintance with Mrs. Needham and herself, this epistle made no impression on Katherine, who was glad to have an unusual amount of work for Mrs. Needham, who had started—or rather promised her assistance in starting—a new scheme for extracting wax candle out of peat. Respecting this she was immensely sanguine, for the first time in her life she was to be properly remunerated for her trouble, and in a year or two would make her fortune.
The day flew past with welcome rapidity, and in the evening Katherine was swept off to a "first-night representation," which, though by no means first-rate, helped to draw Katherine out of herself, and helped her to vanquish vain regrets.
"You'll make a dozen copies of those notes please, dear," said Mrs. Needham, as she stood dressed to go out after an early luncheon the following day, "and I'll sign them when I come in; then there is the notice of the play for my Dullertoova letter, and be sure you send those extracts from theWeekly Reviewto Angela Bradley. You know all the rest; if I am not home by seven don't wait dinner for me."
Katherine had scarcely settled to her task, when the servant entered to say that Lord De Burgh would be glad to speak to her, as he had a message from Mrs. Needham.
"How strange!" murmured Katherine, adding aloud, "Then show him in."
"I have just met Mrs. Needham, and she told me to give you this," said De Burgh, handing a card to Katherine as soon as she had shaken hands with him. It was one of her own cards, and on the back was scribbled,
"Don't mind the notes."
"How extraordinary!" cried Katherine. "I thought they were of the last importance. What did she say to you? you must have met her directly she went out!"
"I think I did. I was coming through the narrow part of Kensington, and was stopped by a block; just caught sight of your chief, and jumped out of my cab to have a word with her. She told me I should find you, and gave me that." De Burgh went on: "So this is the tremendous laboratory where Mrs. Needham forges her thunderbolts," looking round with some curiosity.
"And whereIforgemythunderbolts, said Katherine, laughing.
"Thunderbolts!" echoed De Burgh, looking keenly at her. "No! where you launch the lightning that either withers or kindles life-giving flames."
"Really, Lord De Burgh, you are positively poetical! I never dreamed of your developing this faculty when you tried to teach me how to drive at Castleford."
"No! it did not exist then—now I want to tell you of the cause of its growth, you have silenced me often enough. To-day I will speak, Katherine."
"If you please, 'm—there's twopence to pay," said the demure Ford, advancing with a letter.
Half amused and partly relieved by the interruption, Katherine sought for and produced the requisite coin, and then took the letter with a look of some anxiety.
"It is my own writing," she said, "it is one of the envelopes I left with Cis." Opening it and glancing at the contents her color rose, and her bosom heaved. "Oh! do look at this," she cried.
De Burgh rose and read over her shoulder.
"Dear Auntie,
"I hope you are quite well. We have had a dreadful row! Charlie could not say his lesson, so Mr. Sells roared at him like a bull. Charlie got into one of his fits, you know, and then he burst out laughing. Mr. Sells went into such a rage; he laid hold of him and whipped him all over, and I ran to break the cane. I hit his nose with my head so hard that the blood came. I was glad to see the blood; then they locked us both up. I have no stamp. Do come and take us away, do do do!"Your loving,"Cis."
"P.S.—If you don't come we'll run away to the gipsies on the common."
"The scoundrel! I'll go and thrash him within an inch of his life!" cried De Burgh, when they had finished this epistle.
"I should like to do it myself," said Katherine in a low fierce tone, starting up and crushing the letter in an angry grip.
"By Jove! I wish you could, I fancy you'd punish him pretty severely," returned De Burgh admiringly.
"I must go—go at once," continued Katherine, her lips trembling, her lustrous eyes filling. "Think of the tender, fragile, sweet boy—who is an angel in nature—beaten by adoglike that! Lord de Burgh, I must leave you, I must go at once."
"Yes, of course," said De Burgh, standing between her and the door; "but not alone. May I come with you?"
Katherine paused, and put her hand to her head.
"No, I think you had better not."
"I will do whatever you like. Take Miss Payne with you—she is a shrewd woman—and consult with her what you had better do. Shall you remove the boys?"
She paused again before replying, looking rapidly, despairingly round. These changes had cost her a good deal, and she had not much to go on with unless she broke into the deposit which she hoped to preserve intact for a long time to come.
"I do not know where to put them," she said, and there was a sound of tears in her voice.
"You can do whatever you choose," said De Burgh, emphatically, "only, while you are driving down to this confounded place, make up your mind what to do. I wish you would feel yourself free to do anything or pay anything. While you are dressing, I will go round to Miss Payne and bring her back with me; then you must take my carriage, it will save time; and don't exaggerate the effects of this whipping, a few impatient cuts with a cane over his jacket would not hurt him much."
"Hurt him, no; crush and terrify him, yes. It will be months before he can forget it; and I told the head master of Charlie's peculiarly nervous temperament—this man seems to be an assistant. I will take your advice, Lord de Burgh, and make some plan with Miss Payne. I hope she will be able to come."
"She must—she shall," cried De Burgh, impetuously, and he hastily left the room.
By the time Katherine had put on her out-door dress, and written an explanatory line to Mrs. Needham, De Burgh returned with Miss Payne.
"You must tell me all about it as we go along," said that lady, as Katherine took her place beside her, "and you must do nothing rash."
"Oh no, if I can only prevent a recurrence of such a scene. I am most grateful to you for your kind help, Lord de Burgh. I will let you know how things are settled."
"Thank you. I shall be glad of a line; but I shall call to-morrow to hear a full and true account. Now, what's the name of the place?"
"Birch Grove, Wandsworth Common."
De Burgh gave the necessary directions, and the big black horse tossed up his head, and dashed off at swift trot. Deep was the discussion which ensued, and which ended in deciding that they would be guided by circumstances.
The arrival of Miss Liddell was evidently most unexpected. She and her companion were shown into the guest-parlor, where, after a while, Mr. Lockwood, the principal, made his appearance.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Liddell. May I ask the reason of your visit?"
Whereupon Katherine spoke more temperately than Miss Payne expected, describing Cecil's letter, and reminding him that she had fully explained Charlie's nervous weakness, and stating that, if she could not be assured such treatment should not occur again, she must remove the boy.
The 'dominie,' apparently touched by her tone, answered with equal frankness. He had been called away by unavoidable business at the beginning of the term, and had forgotten to warn his assistant respecting Liddell minor. He regretted the incident; indeed, he had intended to inform Miss Liddell of the unfortunate occurrence, but extreme occupation must plead his excuse. Miss Liddell might be sure that it should never happen again; indeed, her nephews were very promising boys—the youngest a little young for his school, but it was all the better for him to be accustomed to a higher standard. He hoped, now that this unpleasantness was over, all would go on well.
"I hope so, Mr. Lockwood," returned Katherine; "but should my nephew be again punished for what he cannot help, I shall immediately remove him and his brother."
"So I understand, madam," said the schoolmaster, who was visibly much annoyed by the whole affair. "I presume you would like to see the boys?"
"Yes, certainly. Will you be so good as to grant them a half-holiday?"
This was agreed to, and in a few minutes Cis and Charlie were hanging round their aunt.
"Oh, auntie dear, have you come to take us away?"
"No, dears, but I have talked to Mr. Lockwood;" and she explained the fact that Mr. Sells did not know that Charlie's laughter was involuntary.
The poor little fellow did not complain of his aunt's decision; he just laid his head on her shoulders and cried silently. This was worse than any other line of conduct. Cis declared his intention of running away forthwith; however, when matters were laid before him and the joys of a half-holiday set forth, he consented to try 'old Sells' a little longer, and then Katherine took them back to Wilton Street, where they spent a quiet happy afternoon with their aunt, to whom they poured out their hearts, and were finally taken back by the polite Francois.
"You are the kindest of much enduring employers," said Katherine, gratefully, when she joined Mrs. Needham at dinner. "I earnestly hope my sudden desertion has not inconvenienced you. Now I am ready to work far into the night to make up for lost time."
"Oh, you need not do that; I changed my plans after I met Lord de Burgh, and came home to write here. Now tell me all about those poor dears and that brute of a master."
The excitement of this expedition over, Katherine felt rather depressed and nervous the next morning. She dreaded Lord de Burgh's visit, yet did not absolutely wish to avoid it. It was due to him that the sort of probation which he had voluntarily institutedshould come to an end. She could not allow herself to be made conspicuous by the constant attentions of a man who was known to be about the best match in London, yet she was genuinely sorry to lose him—as a friend he had been so kind and thoughtful about the boys too! Well, she would be frank and sympathetic, and soften her refusal as much as possible. How she wished it were over, she found writing an impossible task, and Mrs. Needham, noticing her restlessness, observed, with a grave smile,
"I expect you will have some very good news for me this afternoon! I am going out to luncheon."
"No, dear Mrs. Needham, I do not think I shall," returned Katherine. "I fear——"
"Lord de Burgh is in the drawing room," said the parlor-maid.
"Go, Katherine," cried Mrs. Needham; "and don't tell me there is any doubt about your having good news! You deserve bread and water for the rest of your natural life if you don't take the goods the gods provide."
Katherine hesitated, smiled miserably, and left the room.
"Well, and how did you find the poor little chap?" were De Burgh's first words. "There's nothing wrong, I hope?—you look as white as a ghost, and your hand is quite cold;" placing his left on it, as it lay in his grasp. "The boys are well?"
"Yes, quite well, and reconciled with some difficulty to remain where they are," she returned, disengaging herself and sinking rather than sitting down into a corner of a sofa nearest her.
"Then what has upset you? I suppose," softening his voice, "the whole thing was too much for you."