"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 that anything I 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, however things 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; after you came," 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 myself did you 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 leave the 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."



CHAPTER XXXI.

"MISS BRADLEY AT HOME."

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, in my 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-toilette dresses 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 a rusee little 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, you know your 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 manoeuvred 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 should not be 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 deeds in 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 he is a 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 on her. 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 your head?"

"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.



CHAPTER XXXII.

ILL MET.

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 the Weekly Review to 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 where I forge my thunderbolts, 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 a dog like 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 instituted should 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."

"I daresay I excited myself more than I need have done, but I think my little Charlie is safe for the future."

"Do you know that it makes me half mad to see that look of distress in your eyes, to see the color fading out of your cheeks! Katherine, I can't hold my tongue any longer. I thought I was far gone when I used to count the days between my visits to Sandbourne; I am a good deal worse now that you have let me be a sort of chum! Life without you is something I don't care to face, I don't indeed! Why don't you make up your mind to take me for better for worse? I'll try to be all better; just think how happy we might be! Those boys should have the best training money or care could get; and, Katherine, I'm not a bad fellow! Now you know me better, you must feel that I should never be a bad fellow to you."

"You are a very good fellow, Lord de Burgh, that I quite believe; but (it pains me so much to say it) I really do not love you as I ought, and, unless I do love I dare not marry."

"Why not?—that is, if you don't love some other fellow. Will you tell me if any man stands in my way?"

"No, indeed, Lord de Burgh; who could I love?"

"That is impossible to say; however, your word is enough. If your heart is free, why not let me try to win it? and the opportunities afforded by matrimony are endless; you are the sort of woman who would be faithful to whatever you undertook, and when you saw me day by day living for you, and you only, you'd grow to love me! Just think of the boys running wild at Pont-y garvan in the holidays, and——By heaven, my head reels with such a dream of happiness."

"I am a wretch, I know," said Katherine, the tears in her eyes, her voice breaking; "but I know myself. I am a very lawless individual, and—you had better not urge me."

"What is your objection to me? I haven't been a saint, but I have never done anything I am ashamed of. Why do you shrink from life with me? Come, cast your doubts to the winds, and give me your sweet self. There is no one to love you as I do, and I swear your life shall be a summer holiday."

His words struck her with sudden conviction. It was true there was no one to love her as he did, and what a tower of refuge he would be to the boys! Why should she not think of him? He had been very true to her. Why should she not drive out the haunting image of the man who did not love her by the living presence of the man who did? But, if she accepted him, she must confess her crime; she could not keep such an act hidden from the man who was ready to give his life to her. How awful this would be! And he might reject her; then her fate would be decided for her. Lord de Burgh saw that she hesitated, and pressed her eagerly for a decision.

"You deserve so much gratitude for your kindness, your faithfulness, that—ah! do let me think," covering up her face with her hands. "It is such a tremendous matter to decide."

"Yes, of course, you shall think as much as ever you like," cried De Burgh, rapturously, telling himself "that she who deliberates is lost." "Take your own time, only don't say no," ferociously. "Reflect on the immense happiness you can bestow, the good you can do. Why do you shiver, my darling? If you wish it, I'll go now this moment, and I'll not show my face till—till the day after to-morrow, if you like."

"The day after to-morrow? that is but a short space to decide so momentous a question."

"If you can't make up your mind in twenty-four hours, neither can you in two hundred and forty. I don't want to hurry you, but you must have some consideration for me; imagine my state of mind. Why, I'll be on the rack till we meet again. I fancy a conscientious woman is about the cruellest creature that walks! However, I'll stick to my promise: I will not intrude on you till the day after to-morrow. Then I will come at eleven o'clock for your answer; and, Katherine, my love, my life, it must be 'yes.'"

He took and kissed her hand more than once, then he went swiftly away.

The hours which succeeded were painfully agitated. Katherine felt that De Burgh had every right to consider himself virtually accepted. She liked him—yes, certainly she liked him, and might have loved him, but for her irresistible, unreasonable, unmaidenly attachment to Errington. If she made up her mind to marry him, that would fill her heart and relieve it from the dull aching which had strained it so long; once a wife, she would never give a thought save to her own husband, but, before she reached the profound and death-like peace of such a position, she must tell her story to De Burgh—and how would he take it? With all his ruggedness, he had a keen and delicate sense of honor; still she felt his passion for her would overcome all obstacles for the time, but how would it be afterwards, when they had settled down to the routine of every-day life? It would be a tremendous experiment, but she could not let him enter on that close union in ignorance of the blot on her scutcheon, and then the door would be closed on the earlier half of her life, which had been so bitter-sweet. How little peace she had known since her mother's death! how heavenly sweet her life had been when she knew no deeper care than to shield that dear mother from anxiety and trouble! and now there was no one belonging to her on whose wisdom and strength she had a right to rely. Perhaps, after all, it might be better to accept De Burgh, and end her uncertainties. Though by no means given to weeping, Katherine could not recover composure until after the relief of a copious flood of tears.

"Well, dear!" cried Mrs. Needham, when they were left together after dinner, "I am just bursting with curiosity. What news have you for me? and what have you been doing with yourself? You look ghastly, and I positively believe you have been crying. What have you done? I can't believe that you have refused Lord de Burgh—you couldn't be such a madwoman! Why you might lead——"

"How do you know he gave me an opportunity?" interrupted Katherine, with a faint smile.

"Don't talk like that, dear!" said Mrs. Needham, severely. "What would bring Lord de Burgh here day after day but trying to win you? I have been waiting for what I knew was inevitable; now, Katherine, tell me, have you rejected him?"

"No, Mrs. Needham, I have asked him for time to reflect."

"Oh, that is all right," in a tone of satisfaction, "and only means a turn of the rack while you can handle the screws; of course you'll accept him when he comes again. After all, though there are plenty of unhappy marriages, there is no joy so delightful as reciprocal affection. I am sure I never saw a creature so glorified by love as Angela Bradley; she told me at Mrs. Cochrane's she had a wonderful piece of news for me, and, when I said perhaps I knew it, she beamed all over and squeezed my hand as she whispered, "Perhaps you do!" I saw her driving Errington in her pony-carriage afterwards, and meeting old Captain Everard just then, he nodded after them and said, 'That's an excellent arrangement; the wedding, I hear, is fixed for the twenty-ninth of next month.' Now, I don't quite believe that; Angela would certainly have told me, but I am sure it will come off soon. I am glad for both their sakes."

"I am sure they will make a very happy couple, and I really believe I shall follow their example."

"Quite right! The double event will make a sensation, my dear child: to see you happily and splendidly settled will be the greatest joy I have known for years, and what will Colonel Ormonde say?"

"I neither know nor care; and, Mrs. Needham, if you don't mind, I will go to bed. I have such a headache."

The fateful morning found Katherine resolved and composed.

She would tell De Burgh everything, and, if her revelation did not frighten him away, she would try to make him happy and to be happy herself. It would be painful to tell him, but oh! nothing compared with the agony of humiliation it cost her to prostrate herself morally before Errington. Still she would be glad when the confession was over; afterwards, feeling her destiny decided, she would be calmer and more resigned. Resigned? what a term to apply to her acceptance of an honest man's hearty affection; for, whatever De Burgh's life may have been, he had said he had done nothing he was ashamed of. By some unconscious impulse she dressed herself in black, and went down to the drawing-room with her knitting, that she might be ready to receive the man who, an hour later, might be her affianced husband.

On the stairs she met Ford, who informed her that Miss Trant was waiting for her. Katherine felt glad of any interruption to her thoughts, especially as she knew that the arrival of a visitor would be the signal for Rachel's departure.

"I am so glad to see you," exclaimed Katherine, "but how is it you have escaped so early?"

"I have been to the City to buy goods, and came round here to have a peep at you, for Miss Payne told me yesterday of your trouble about the boys."

"How early you are! why, it is scarcely eleven. Yes, (sit down for a moment,) yes, I was dreadfully angry and upset;" and Katherine proceeded to describe Cecil's letter, and her visit to the school.

"I wish you could take them away," said Rachel, thoughtfully.

"Perhaps, later on, I may be able, but I do not think there is any chance that poor Charlie will be punished again. He is never really naughty, but he has had a great shock."

"So have you, I imagine, to judge from your looks."

"Do I look shocked? And how have you been? It is so long since I was able to go and see you."

"I have been, and am very well—very busy, and really succeeding. I have opened a banking account, and feel very proud of my cheque-book. Do you know that Mr. Newton has advanced me two hundred pounds? Just now it is worth a thousand, it lifts me over the waiting time. I have sent in my quarter's accounts, and in a month the payments will begin to come in. I'll make a good business yet."

"I believe you will."

"What a pretty room!" said Rachel, looking round. "How nice it is to know you are comfortable; by the time you are tired of your secretaryship, I hope to have a nice little sum laid by for you."

"What a wonderful woman of business you are, Rachel," said Katherine, admiringly.

"I ought to be! It is the only thing left to me, and I am thankful to say I get more and more—-" she stopped, for the door opened and Lord de Burgh was announced.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

REPULSION.

Rachel started from her seat and stood facing the door. Her cheek flushed crimson, then grew deadly white, her lips parted as if she breathed with difficulty.

De Burgh, the moment his eyes fell on her, stopped as if suddenly arrested by an invisible hand; his eyes expressed horror and surprise, his dark face grew darker. Rachel quickly recovered. "I will call again," she murmured, and passing him swiftly, noiselessly, left the room, closing the door behind her.

Like a flash of lightning, the meaning of this scene darted through Katherine's brain. Clasping her hands with interlaced fingers, she pressed them against her breast.

"Ah!" she exclaimed (there was infinite pain in that "ah!") "then you are the man?"

"What do you mean?" asked De Burgh, in a sullen tone, his thick brows almost meeting in a frown.

"The man she loved and lived with," returned Katherine, the words were low and clear.

"I am!" he replied, defiantly. Then a dreadful silence fell upon them.

Katherine dropped into a chair, and, resting her elbows on the table, covered her face with her hands.

"My God!" exclaimed De Burgh, advancing a step nearer. "How does she come here?"

Katherine could not speak for a moment; at last, and still covering her eyes and with a low quick utterance as if overwhelmed, she said,

"I have known her for some time. I found her dying of despair! I was able to befriend her, to win her back to life, to something like hope. She told me everything, except the name. We have ceased to speak of the past! I little knew, I could not have dreamed—I never suspected;" her voice broke, and she burst into tears, irresistible tears which she struggled vainly to repress.

"Why should you not suspect me!" exclaimed De Burgh, harshly. "Did you suppose me above or below other men?"

"Ah! poor Rachel! what a flood of unspeakable bitterness must have overwhelmed her, to find you here!"

De Burgh paced to and fro, bewildered, furious, not knowing how to defend himself or what to say.

"I am the most unfortunate devil that ever breathed!" he exclaimed at last, pausing beside the table and resting one hand on it. "Look here, Katherine, how can a girl like you—for, in spite of your mature airs, you are a mere girl—how can you judge the—the temptations and ways of a world of which you know nothing?"

"Temptations!" she murmured; "did Rachel ask you to take her to live with you?"

"No, of course not," angrily, "she is rather a superior creature, I admit; but I deny that I ever deceived or deserted her! She was perfectly aware I never Intended to marry her, and I was awfully put out when she disappeared. I did my best to find her. But the fact is, when she did not reappear, I not unnaturally supposed she had gone off with some other man."

Katherine looked upon him suddenly with such tragic, horrified eyes that De Burgh was startled; then she slightly raised her hands with an expressive gesture, again covering her face.

"Yes, yes," De Burgh went on, impatiently, "I see you think me a brute for suspecting her capable of such a thing, but how was I to know she was different from others? It is too infernally provoking that such an affair should came to your notice! You are quite unable to judge fairly;" and he resumed his agitated walk. "I swear I am no worse than my neighbors. Ask any woman of the world, ask Mrs. Needham—they will tell you I am not an unpardonable sinner! I will do anything on earth for Rachel that you think right. Just remember her position and mine, it was not as if—It is impossible to explain to you, but there was no reason, had she been a little sensible, why such an episode should have spoiled her life! Lots of women—" he stopped, and with a muttered curse paused opposite her.

"And could you have been her companion so long, without perceiving the strength and pride and tenderness of the woman who gave up all hoping to keep the love you no doubt ardently expressed? Ah! if you could have seen her as she was when I found her!"

"How was I to know she was staking her gold against my counters?" returned De Burgh, obstinately, though a dark flush passed over his face at Katherine's words.

"Lord de Burgh! I did not think you could be so cruel," cried Katherine, rising. "I will not speak to you any longer."

"Cruel!" he exclaimed, placing himself between her and the door. "How can I be just or generous, when this most unfortunate encounter has put me in such a hopeless position? Katherine, will you let this miserable mistake of the past rob me of my best hopes, my most ardently cherished desires——"

"It is but two or three years since you spoke in the same tone, possibly the same words, to Rachel! At least, knowing her as I do, I feel sure she would have yielded to no common amount of persuasion. She was mad, weak to a degree to listen to you; but she was alone, and love is so sweet."

"It is," cried De Burgh, passionately. "Why will you turn from love as true, as intense as ever was offered to woman, merely because I let myself fall into an error but too common—"

"Is it not a mere accident of our respective positions that you happen to seek me as your wife?" said Katherine, a slight curl on her lip; "and how can I feel sure that in time you will not weary of me as you did of her?"

"The cases are utterly unlike. So long as the world lasts, men and women too will act as Rachel Trant and I did; Nature is too strong for social laws and religious maxims."

"And you said you had never done anything to be ashamed of?" she exclaimed, bitterly.

"Nor have I!" said De Burgh, stoutly, "if I were tried by the standard of our world. How can you know—how can you judge?"

"I do not judge, I have no right to judge," said Katherine, brokenly. "I only know that, when I saw your eyes meet Rachel's I felt a great gulf had suddenly opened between us, a gulf that cannot be bridged. I do not understand and cannot judge, as you say, and I am sorry for you too; but if life is to be this miserable shuffling of chances, this jumble of injustice, I would rather die than live. No, Lord de Burgh, I will go."

"Good Heavens! Katherine, you are trembling; you can hardly stand. I am a brute to keep you; but I cannot help clutching my only chance of happiness. You are an angel! Dispose of me as you will; but in mercy give me some hope. I'll wait; I'll do anything."

"Oh, no, no. It is impossible. I am so fond of her; and you will find many to whom your past will be nothing; for me it is irrevocable. The world seems intolerable; let me go;" and she burst into such bitter sobs that her whole frame shook.

"I must not keep you now; but I shall not give you up. I will write. Oh, Katherine, you would not destroy me!" He seized and passionately kissed her hand, which she tore from him, and fled from the room.

When Rachel Trant escaped from the presence of her dearest friend and her ex-lover, she could scarcely see or stand. Thankful not to meet anyone, she hastily left the house, and, somewhat revived by the air, she made her way to a secluded part of the Kensington Gardens. Here she found a seat, and, still palpitating with the shock she had sustained, strove to reduce the chaotic whirl of her thoughts to something like order.

She divined by instinct why De Burgh was at Mrs. Needham's. She knew, how she could not tell, that he was seeking Katherine as eagerly as he had sought herself; but with what a different object! The sight of De Burgh was as the thrust of a poisoned dagger through the delicate veins and articulations of her moral system. To see the dark face and sombre eyes she had loved so passionately—had!—still loved!—was almost physical agony. It was as if some beloved form had been brought back from another world, but animated by a spirit that knew her not, regarded her not at all. Oh, the bitterness of such an estrangement, of this expulsion from the paradise of warmth and tenderness where she had been cherished for a while—a heavenly place which should know her no more.

"I brought it all upon myself," was the sentence of her strong stern sense. "Losing self-respect, what hold can any woman have upon a lover?—yet how many men are faithful even to death without the legal tie! I do not love him now, but how fondly, how intensely I loved the man I thought he was! Oh, fool, fool, fool, to believe that I could ever tighten my hold upon a man who had gained all he wished unconditionally! I have deserved all—all."

Yet she had no hatred against the real De Burgh, neither had she any angelic desire to forgive him, or to do him good or convert him; what he was now, he would ever be. He might even make a fairly good husband. The episode of his connection with herself would in no way interfere with his moral harmony. But he was not worthy of Katherine; no unbreakable tie would make him more constant; and, though his faithlessness could not touch her social position, he might crush her heart all the same. Rachel was far too human, too passionate, not to shrink with unutterable pain from the idea of this man's entrancing love being lavished on another, yet her true, devoted affection for her benefactress remained untouched. Katherine stood before everything. Rachel did not wish to injure De Burgh—her heart had simply grown strong, and she would not hesitate for a moment to save Katherine from trouble at any cost to him.

What then should she do?—continue to withhold the name of the man of whom she had so often spoken, or let Katherine know the whole truth and judge for herself? If she decided on the latter, it would break up her friendship with Katherine, and De Burgh would attribute her action to revenge. Should that deter her? No; so long as she was sure of herself, what were opinions to her? The one thing in life to which she clung now was Katherine's affection and esteem; for her she would sacrifice much, but she would not flatter her into a fool's paradise of trust and wedded love with De Burgh by concealing anything, neither would she counsel her against the desperate experiment, should she be inclined to risk it. He might be a very different man to a wife.

A certain amount of composure came to her with decision, though a second death seemed to have laid its icy hand upon her heart; she rose and made her way towards her own abode, determining to await a visit or some communication from Katherine before she touched the poisoned tract which lay between them.

Rachel had scarcely reached the Broad Walk when she was accosted by a little girl, who ran towards her, calling loudly,

"Miss Trant, Miss Trant, don't you know me?"

She was a slight, willowy creature with black eyes, profuse dark hair, and sallow complexion. Her dress was costly, though simple, and she was followed at a more sober pace by a lady-like but foreign-looking girl, apparently her governess.

"Well, Miss Liddell, are you taking a morning walk?" asked Rachel, as the child took her hand.

"I am going to see papa. I am to have dinner with him. He has a bad cold, and he sent for me."

"Then you must cheer him up, and tell him what you have been learning."

"I haven't learnt much yet; it is so tiresome."

"Come, Mademoiselle Marie, you must not tease Miss Trant," said the foreign-looking lady, whom Rachel recognized as one of the governesses who sometimes escorted George Liddell's daughter "to be tried on."

"She does not tease me," returned Rachel, who had rather taken a fancy to the child.

"Won't you come and see papa with me?" continued the little heiress. "I wish you would, and he will tell you to make me another pretty frock—I love pretty frocks."

"Not to-day; I must go home and make frocks for other people."

"Then I will bring him to see you—I will, I will; he does whatever I like. Good-bye," springing up to kiss her. "I may come and see you soon?"

"Whenever you like, my dear," said Rachel, feeling strangely comforted by the child's warm kisses; and they parted, going in different directions, to meet again soon.

Mrs. Needham had been sorely tried on that fatal day when De Burgh had suddenly departed, after a comparatively short interval, and Katherine had disappeared into the depths of her own room.

She had anticipated entertaining the bridegroom-elect at luncheon, and had ordered lobster-cream and an epigramme d'agneau a la Russe as suitable delicacies; she expected confidential consultation and delightful plans; she had even speculated on so managing that the double event:—Angela Bradley's marriage with Errington and Katherine's with Lord de Burgh,—might come off on the same day, even in the same church: that would be a culmination of excitement! Now some mysterious blight had fallen on all her schemes. What had happened? What could they have quarrelled about? Then when Katherine emerged from her refuge she was hopelessly mysterious; there was no penetrating the reserve in which she wrapped herself.

"There is no one in whom I should more readily confide than in you, dear Mrs. Needham, but a serious difference has arisen between Lord de Burgh and myself, respecting which I cannot speak to anyone. I regret being obliged to keep it to myself, but I must."

"My dear, if you adopt that tone I have nothing more to say, but it is horribly provoking and disappointing. I am quite sure people began to expect it—that you would marry Lord de Burgh, I mean, and what a position you have thrown away. You can't expect a man like him to be a saint. There is no use trying men by our standard; in short, it's not much matter what standard we have, we must always come down a step or two if we mean to make both ends meet; but you see, when a man has money and right principles, he can atone for a lot."

Katherine gazed at her astonished. How was it that she had found the scent which led so near the real track?

"No money," she said, gravely, "could in any way affect the matters in dispute between Lord de Burgh and myself, so I will not speak any more on the subject. It has all been very painful, and the worst part is that I cannot tell you."

"Well, it must be bad," observed Mrs. Needham, in a complaining tone, "but I suppose I must just hold my tongue."

So Katherine was left in comparative peace. But it was a hard passage to her; she could not shake off the sickening sense of wrong and sorrow, the painful consciousness of being humiliated which the revelation inflicted on her, the feeling that she was, in some inexplicable way, touched by the evil-doing of those who were so near her.

A slight cold, caught she knew not how, aggravated the fever induced by distress of mind, and next day Mrs. Needham thought her so unwell that she insisted on sending for the doctor, who condemned Katherine to her bed, a composing draught, and solitude.

The doctor, however, could not forbid letters, and Katherine's seclusion was much disturbed by a long, rambling, impassioned epistle from De Burgh, in which, though he promised not to intrude upon her at present, he refused to give up all hope, as he could not believe that she would always maintain her present exaggerated and unreasonable frame of mind—a letter that did him no good in Katherine's estimation. Then she tried to resume her work. But Mrs. Needham, returning from one of her "rapid acts" of inspection and negotiation in and out divers and sundry warehouses, dismissed her peremptorily to lie down on the sofa in the drawing-room, in reality to get her out of the way, as she was expecting a visit from Miss Payne, with whom she wanted a little private conversation.

"Can you throw any light on this mysterious quarrel between Katherine and Lord de Burgh?" she asked, abruptly, as soon as Miss Payne was seated in the study.

"Quarrel? have they quarrelled? I know nothing about it. When did they quarrel?"

"About three days ago. He came here to propose for her, I know he did, they were talking together for—oh!—barely a quarter-of-an-hour in the drawing-room, when I heard her fly up stairs, and he rushed away, slamming the door as if he would take the front of the house out. Katherine has never been herself since. It is my firm belief she is strongly attached to him,—what do you think?"

"I don't know what to think; they were very good friends, but I do not think Katherine was in love with him. She is a curious girl. I often am tempted to fancy she has something on her mind."

"Nonsense, my dear Miss Payne. I never met a finer, truer nature than Katherine Liddell's," cried Mrs. Needham, an affectionate smile lighting up her handsome, kindly face. "The worst of it is, I do not know whom to blame, and Katherine has put me on honor not to ask her."

"I cannot help you," said Miss Payne; and she fell into a thoughtful silence, while Mrs. Needham watched her eagerly.

"I am going away for a few weeks," resumed Miss Payne. "I have let my house, and I shall go to Sandbourne; the weather seems settled, and it will be pleasant there. If you can spare her, I will ask Katherine to come with me, she liked the place, and perhaps in the intimacy of every-day life she may tell me what happened; but, remember, I'll not tell you unless she gives me leave."

"No, no, of course not; but I am sure she would trust me as soon as anyone.'

"Very likely. It will just depend upon who is near her when she is in a confidential mood."

"Perhaps. I am sure it would do her good; and Sandbourne is not far. If De Burgh wants to make it up, he can easily run down there."

"Yes, he knows his way. I am not sure that he is the right man, though," said Miss Payne, reflectively; "he is too ready to ride rough-shod over everyone and everything."

"Do you think so? I must say I thought him a delightful person, so natural and good-natured."

"Well, let me go and see Katherine. I am anxious to take her away with me."

Katherine was most willing to accept Miss Payne's proposition. She was soothed and gratified by the thoughtful kindness shown her by both her friends, and anxious to refresh her mind and recruit her strength before taking up her life again.

"You are so good to think of taking me with you," she cried, when Miss Payne ceased speaking. "I should like greatly to go, if Mrs. Needham can spare me."

"Of course I can. You will come back a better secretary than ever," exclaimed that lady, cheerfully. "I will try to run down and see you some Saturday. It is rather a new place, this Sandbourne, isn't it?"

"Yes; it is not crowded yet."

"When do you go down there?"

"On Saturday afternoon," returned Miss Payne. "I have taken rooms at Marine Cottage; you know, it is at the end of the parade, near an old house."

"Yes, quite well; it is a nice little place."

"I will write to secure another bedroom; and let us meet at the station on Saturday. I go by the 2.50 train." A few more preliminaries and the affair was settled.

Previous to leaving town, however, Katherine felt she must see Rachel Trant, though she half dreaded meeting her. It must have been an awful blow to meet De Burgh as she did. Would she divine what brought him there? Katherine felt she had been cold and remiss in having kept silence towards her friend so long, and, when Miss Payne left, she walked with her across the park to Rachel's abode, in spite of Mrs. Needham's assurances that it would be too much for her, and retard the recovery of her nervous forces, etc., etc.

Katherine was not kept long waiting in the neat little back parlor, which was Miss Trant's private room. Rachel came to her looking very white, while she breathed quickly. She paused just within the door, in a hesitating, uncertain way, which seemed to Katherine very pathetic.

"Oh! Rachel," she cried, her soft brown eyes suffused with tears as she tenderly kissed her brow, "I know everything, and—I will never see him again."

"He is not all bad," said Rachel, in a low tone, as she clasped Katherine's hand in both her own.

"No, I am sure he is not; but he has passed out of our lives; let us speak of him no more."

"I should be glad not to do so; but he has written me a letter I should like you to see. He seems grieved for the past and makes munificent offers."

"I should rather not see it, Rachel. I want to forget. Did you reply?"

"I did, very gravely, very shortly. I told him I wanted nothing, that the best friend I ever had had put me in the way perhaps to make my fortune, and—and, dearest Miss Liddell, if you care for——"

"But I do not, I did not," interrupted Katherine. "Oh! thank God I do not. How could I have borne what has come to my knowledge if I did? Now, let the past bury its dead."

"Is it not amazing that we should be so strangely linked together?" murmured Rachel.

Katherine made no reply. After a short silence, as if they stood by a still open grave, Katherine began to speak of her intended visit to Miss Payne, and before they parted, though both were hushed and grave, they had glided into their usual confidential, affectionate tone. Business, however, was not mentioned.

"I wish you could see your cousin's little daughter," said Rachel, rather abruptly, as Katherine rose to bid her good-bye. "She's an interesting, naughty little creature, small of her age, but in some ways precocious. I am fond of her, partly, I suppose, because she likes me. There is something familiar to me in her face, yet I cannot say that she actually resembles anyone."

"I should like to see her," returned Katherine; and soon after she left her friend, relieved and calmed by the feeling that the explanation was over.

"Well, my dear," cried Mrs. Needham, when they met at dinner. "I have a great piece of news for you: Mr. Errington is to be the new editor of The Cycle. A capital thing for him! and that accounts for the announcement of the marriage being held back, just to let people get accustomed to the first start. It shows what Bradley thinks of him. It is really a grand triumph to get such an appointment after so short an apprenticeship."

"I am glad of it, very glad," returned Katherine, thoughtfully. "I suppose he is considered very clever."

"A first-rate man, quite first-rate, for all serious tough subjects. I think, dear, if I could run down on Saturday week till Monday it would be an immense refreshment;" and Mrs. Needham wandered off into the discussion of a variety of schemes.

On the Saturday following, Katherine and her faithful chaperon set out for their holiday with mutual satisfaction and a hope that they left their troubles behind them.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

RECONCILIATION.

The change to Sandbourne did Katherine good; she grew calmer, more resigned, though still profoundly sad. The sense of having been brought in touch with one of the most cruel problems of society affected her deeply, and the contrast between the present and past of a year ago, when she had the boys with her, forced her to review her mental conditions since the great change in her fortunes wrought by her own act.

She had ample time for thought. Miss Payne was suffering from touches of rheumatism, which made long walks impossible; so Katherine wandered about alone.

The weather was bright, but, although it was the beginning of May, not warm enough to sit amongst the rocks at the point. Katherine, however, often walked to and fro recalling De Burgh's looks and tones the day he had opened his heart to her there. He was not a bad fellow—no, far from it; indeed, she knew that, if her heart had not been filled with Errington, she could have loved De Burgh. How was it that a man of feeling, of so-called honor, with a certain degree of discrimination between right and wrong, could have broken the moral law and been so callous as he had shown himself?

There was no use in thinking about it; it was beyond her comprehension. All she hoped was that time might efface the cruel lines which sorrow and remorse had cut deep into Rachel's heart.

With Miss Payne, Katherine was cheerful and companionable. They spoke much of Bertie. His decision to take orders would have given his sister unqualified satisfaction had he also sought preferment in England.

"A clergyman's position is excellent," she said, confidentially, as they sat together in the drawing-room window one blustery afternoon, when Katherine was not tempted to go out. "Bertie is just the stuff to make a popular preacher of, and so long as he is properly ordained I don't care how he preaches, but I don't like him to be classed with ranting, roaring vagabonds! Then, you see, there are no men who have such opportunities as clergymen of picking up well-dowered wives. I believe women are ready to propose themselves rather than not catch what some of them are pleased to term "a priest." It's a weakness I never could understand. What induces him to run off among the heathen?—can't he find heathen enough at home? If he gets into these outlandish places, I shall never see him again, and, between you and me, he is the only creature I care for. He thinks he is inspired by the love of God, but I know he is driven by the love of you."

"Of me, Miss Payne?" exclaimed Katherine, startled and greatly pained.

"Yes, you; and I wish you could see your way to marry him. It would be no great match for either of you, but he would be another and a happier man; and, as for you, your rejection of Lord de Burgh (I suppose you did refuse him) shows you do not care for riches."

"But, Miss Payne, I have no right to think your brother ever wished to marry me."

"Then you must be very dull. I wonder he has not written before. Oh, here is the postman!"

Katherine stepped through the window and took the letters from him.

"Only one for you and two for me," she said, returning. "One, I see, is from Ada." Opening it, she read as follows:

"DEAREST KATHERINE,

"I write in great anxiety and surprise, as I see among the fashionable intelligence of the Morning Post that Lord de Burgh is on the point of leaving England for a tour in the Ural Mountains (of all places!) and will probably be absent for several months. Can this be true? and, if so, what is the reason of it? Is it possible that you have been so cruel, so insane, so wicked as to fly in the face of providence and refuse him? You should remember your own poverty-stricken existence, and think of the boys. Marriage with a man of De Burgh's rank and fortune would be the making of them. I have hidden away the paper, for, if the colonel saw it, it would drive him frantic. Do write and let me mediate between you and De Burgh, if you are so mad as to have quarrelled with him. I am feeling quite ill with all this excitement and worry. I don't think many women have been so sorely tried as myself. Ever yours, "ADA ORMONDE."

Having glanced through this composition, she handed it with a smile to Miss Payne, and opened the other letter, which was from Rachel. This was very short and very mysterious.

"I have been introduced to your relative, Mr. George Liddell," she wrote, "by his daughter. We have had a conversation respecting you and other matters. I cannot go into this now—I only write to say that Mr. Liddell is going down to see you to-morrow or next day, and I earnestly trust you may be reconciled. I am always your devoted RACHEL."

"This is very extraordinary," cried Katherine, when she had read it aloud. "What can she mean by sending him down here! I rather dread seeing him."

"Nonsense," returned Miss Payne, sternly. "If that dressmaking friend of yours brings about a reconciliation between you and your very wrong-headed cousin, she will do a good deed. I anticipate some important results from this interview—you must see Mr. Liddell alone."

"I suppose so. I am sure I hope he will not snap my head off."

"You are not the sort of girl to allow people to snap your head off. But I am immensely puzzled to imagine what Miss Trant can have said or done to send this bush-ranger down here. How did Mr. Liddell come to know her?"

"I can only suppose that his little girl, to whom I believe he is devoted, brought him to Rachel's to get a dress tried on or to choose one."

"It is very odd," observed Miss Payne, thoughtfully. "My letter," she went on, after a moment's pause, "is from my new tenant; he wants some additional furniture, which is just nonsense. He has as much as is good for him; I'll write and say I shall be in town on Monday, and call at Wilton Street to discuss matters."