The day after she had been so ignominiously expelled from John Liddell's house she put on the prettiest thing she possessed in the way of a bonnet—a contrivance of black lace and violets—and having inspected the turn-out of the children's maid in her best go-to-meeting attire, also the putting on of the boys' newest sailor suits, the curling of their hair, and many minor details, she sallied forth across Kensington Gardens to the ride, feeling tolerably sure that, in consequence of a hint she had dropped a day or two before, when taking afternoon tea in Mrs. Burnett's drawing-room, Colonel Ormonde would probably be amongst the riders on his powerful chestnut, ready to receive her report. She was quite sure he was very much smitten, and eager to know what her chances with old Liddell might be; and as her mother-in-law had a bad habit of presiding over her own tea-table, it would be more convenient to talk with her gay Lothario in the Park.

Many admiring glances were cast upon the pretty little woman in becoming half-mourning, with the two golden-haired, sweet-looking children and their trim maid, which did not escape their object, and put her into excellent spirits. She felt she had gone forth conquering and to conquer. About half-way down the row she recognized a well-known figure on a mighty horse, who cantered up to where she stood, followed by a groom.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Liddell; I thought this piece of fine weather would tempt you out," cried Colonel Ormonde, dismounting and throwing his rein to the groom, who led away the horse as if in obedience to some previously given command. "I protest you are a most tantalizing little woman!" he exclaimed, when they had shaken hands and he had patted the children's heads. "I have been looking for you this half-hour. Where did you hide yourself?"

"I did not hide myself. I am dying to tell you about my uncle."

"Ah! was he all your prophetic soul painted him?"

"He was, and a good deal more. He is quite an ogre, and lives in a miserable hovel. How Katherine can degrade herself by grovelling there with him for the sake of what she can get passes my understanding."

"Deuced plucky, sensible girl! She is quite right to stick to the old boy. Hope she will get his cash. Gad! with her eyes and his thousands, she'd rouse up society!"

"Well, I believe she intends to have them all. She was quite vexed at my going over to see the ogre, and I think has prejudiced him against my poor darling boys, for as soon as he saw them he called out that he could not receive any one, that he was ill and nervous. But I smiled my very best smile, and said I had come to introduce myself, and I hoped he would let me have a little talk with him. The poor old ogre looked at me rather kindly and earnestly when I said that, and I really do think he would have listened to me, but my sister-in-law would make me come away, as if the sight of me was enough to frighten a horse from his oats; so somehow we got hustled upstairs, and there was an end of it."

"Ah, Mrs. Liddell, you ought not to have allowed yourself to be outmanoeuvred," cried the Colonel, who greatly enjoyed irritating his pretty little friend. "Your belle-soeur (as she really is) is too many for you. Don't you give up; try again when the adorable Katherine is out of the way."

"I fully intend to do so, I assure you," cried Mrs. Frederic, her eyes sparkling, her heart beating with vexation, but determined to keep up the illusion of ingratiating herself with the miserly uncle. "Pray remember this is only a first attempt."

"I am sure you have my devout wishes for your success. How this wretched old hunk can resist such eyes, such a smile, as yours, is beyond my comprehension. If such a niece attacked me, I should surrender at the first demand."

"I don't think you would"—a little tartly. "I think you have as keen a regard for your own interest as most men."

"I am sure you would despise me if I had not, and the idea of being despised by you is intolerable."

"You know I do not"—very softly. "But it is time I turned and went toward home."

"Nonsense, my dear Mrs. Liddell! or, if you will turn, let it be round Kensington Gardens. Do you know, I am going to Scotland next week, to Sir Ralph's moor; then I expect a party to meet Errington at my own place early in September; so I shall not have many chances of seeing you until I run up just before Christmas. Now I am going to ask a great favor. It's so hard to get a word with you except under the Argus eyes of that mother-in-law of yours."

"What can it be?" opening her eyes.

"Come with me to see this play they have been giving at the Adelphi. I have never had a spare evening to see it. We'll leave early, and have a snug little supper at Verey's, and I'll see you home."

"It would be delightful, but out of the question, I am afraid: Mrs. Liddell has such severe ideas, and I dare not offend her."

"Why need she know anything about it? Say—oh, anything—that you are going with the Burnetts: they have gone to the Italian lakes, but I don't suppose she knows."

The temptation was great, but the little widow was no fool in some ways. She saw her way to make something of an impression on her worldly admirer.

"No, Colonel Ormonde," she said, shaking her head, while she permitted the "suspicious moisture" to gather in her eyes. "It would indeed be a treat to a poor little recluse like me, but though there is not a bit of harm in it, or you would not ask me, I am sure, I must not offend my mother-in-law; and though Heaven knows I am not straight-laced, I never will tell stories or act deceitfully if I can help it; that is my only strong point, which has to make up for a thousand weak ones."

Colonel Ormonde looked at her with amazement; her greatest charm to men such as he was her dolliness, and this was a new departure.

"Well," he said, in his most insinuating tones, "I thought you might have granted so much to an old friend and faithful admirer like myself. There is no great harm in my little plan."

"Certainly not, but you see I must hold on to my mother-in-law: she is my only real stay. While pleasant and friendly as you are, my dear Colonel"—with a pretty little toss of her head—"you will go off shooting, or hunting, or Heaven knows what, and it is quite possible I may never see your face again."

"Oh, by George! you will not get rid of me so easily," cried Ormonde, a good deal taken back.

"I shall be very glad to see you if you do turn up again," said Mrs. Liddell, graciously. "So as this will probably be the last time I shall see you for some months, pray tell me some amusing gossip."

But gossip did not seem to come readily to Colonel Ormonde; nevertheless they made a tour of the gardens in desultory conversation, till Mrs. Liddell stopped decidedly, and bade him adieu.

"At last," said the cautious ex-dragoon, "you will write and tell me how you get on with this amiable old relative of yours."

"I shall be very pleased to report progress, if you care to write and ask me, and tell me your whereabouts."

"Then I suppose it is to be good-by?" said Ormonde, almost sentimentally. "You are treating me devilishly ill."

"I do not see that." Here the boys came running up, at a signal from their mother.

"Well, my fine fellow," said Ormonde, laying his hand on Cecil's shoulder, "so you went to see your old uncle. Did he try to eat you?"

"No; but he is a nasty cross old man. He wouldn't speak a word to mammy, but took his stick and hobbled away."

"Yes, he is a wicked man, and I am afraid he will hurt auntie," put in Charlie.

Colonel Ormonde laughed rather more than the mother liked. "I think you may trust 'auntie' to take care of herself.—So you forced the old boy to retreat? What awful stories your sister-in-law must have told of you!" to Mrs. Liddell.

She was greatly annoyed, but, urged by all-powerful self-interest, she maintained a smooth face, and answered, "Oh yes, when Katherine kept worrying about our disturbing her uncle, the poor old man got up and left the room."

"Well, you must turn her flank, and be sure to let me know how matters progress. I suppose you will be here all the autumn?"

"I should think so; small chance of my going out of town," she returned, bitterly, and the words had scarce left her lips before she felt she had made a mistake. Men hate to be bothered with the discomforts of others.

The result was that Colonel Ormonde cut short his adieux, and parted from her with less regret than he felt five minutes before.

The young widow walked smartly back, holding her eldest boy's hand, and administered a sharp rebuke to him for talking too much. To which Cecil replied that he had only answered when he was spoken to. This elicited a scolding for his impertinence, and produced further tart answers from the fluent young gentleman, which ended by his being dismissed in a fury to Jane, vice Charles, promoted to walk beside mamma.

As may be supposed, Mrs. Liddell lost no time about answering her daughter's note in person. In truth, toward the end of a week's separation she generally began to hunger painfully for a sight of her Katie's face, to feel the clasp of her soft arms, and to this was added in the present instance serious uneasiness respecting the strain to which her sense of responsibility as nurse as well as housekeeper must subject so inexperienced a creature.

It was rather late in the afternoon when Mrs. Liddell reached Legrave Crescent, and the servant showed her into the front parlor at once. Katherine almost feared to draw her uncle's attention to the visitor. He had had all the papers read to him, and even asked for some articles to be read a second time; now after his dinner he seemed to doze. If he had not noticed Mrs. Liddell's entry she had perhaps better take her away upstairs at once, but while she thought she sprang to her and locked her in a close, silent embrace.

Turning from her, he saw that Mr. Liddell's eyes were open and fixed upon them, and she said, softly: "I am sorry you have been disturbed. I shall take my mother to my room; perhaps if you want anything you will ring for me."

"I will," he returned; and Mrs. Liddell thought his tone a little less harsh than usual. "I said you might come and see your daughter when you like," he added, "and I repeat it. You have brought her up more usefully than I expected." Having spoken, he leaned his head back wearily and closed his eyes.

"I am pleased to hear you say so," returned Mrs. Liddell, quietly, and immediately followed her daughter out of the room.

"Oh, darling mother, I am so delighted to have you here all to myself! It is even better than going home," cried Kate, when they were safe in her own special chamber. "But you are looking pale and worn and thin—so much thinner!"

"That is an improvement, Katherine," returned Mrs. Liddell; "I shall look all the younger."

"Ah! but your face looks older, dear. What has been worrying you? Has Ada—"

"Ada has never worried me, as you know, Katie," interrupted Mrs. Liddell. "She is not exactly the companion I should choose for every day of my life, but she has always been kind and nice with me."

"Oh, she is not bad, and she would be clever if she managed to make you quarrel. I am quite different. Now I must get you some tea. Pray look round while I am gone, and see how comfortable it is;" and Katherine hurried away.

She soon returned, followed by Mrs. Knapp, who was glad to carry up the tea-tray to the pleasant, sensible lady who had engaged her for what proved to be not an uncomfortable situation. When, after a few civil words, she retired, with what delight and tender care Katie waited on her mother, putting a cushion at her back and a footstool under her feet, remembering her taste in sugar, her little weakness for cream!

"It was very warm in the omnibus, I suppose, for you are looking better already."

"I am better; but, Katherine, your uncle is curiously changed. It is not so much that he looks ill, but by comparison so alarmingly amiable."

"Well, he is less appalling than he was, and I have grown wonderfully accustomed to him. But for the monotony, it is not so bad as I expected, and it will be better now, as Mr. Newton is to give me the weekly money. I think my uncle is trying to live."

"Poor man! he has little to live for," said Mrs. Liddell.

"He wishes to outlive some other old man, because then he will get a good deal of money, according to some curious system—called a 'Tontine.'"

"Is it possible? The ruling passion, then, in his instance is strong against death."

"What a poverty-stricken life his has been, after all!" exclaimed Katherine. "Did Ada tell you how vexed he was at her visit?"

"She was greatly offended, but I should like your version of it."

Katherine told her, and repeated Mr. Newton's inquiry about Mrs. Fred Liddell's family name.

"Mr. Newton is very kind. He is very formal and precise, and very guarded in all he says, yet I feel that he likes me—us—and would like my uncle to do something for us."

"I never hoped he would do as much as he has. If he would remember those poor little boys in his will it would be a great help. You and I could always manage together, Katie."

"I wish that we were together by our own selves once more," returned Kate, nestling up to her mother on the big old-fashioned sofa, and resting her head on her shoulder.

"I wish to God we were! I miss you so awfully, my darling!"

There was a short silence while the two clung lovingly together. Then Katherine said, in a low tone, "Mr. Newton evidently thinks he—my uncle—has made a very unjust will, and fears he will never change it."

"Most probably he will not; but he ought not to cut off his natural heirs."

"Would Cecil and Charlie be his natural heirs?"

"I suppose so, and something would come to you too; but I do not understand these matters. It is dreadful how mean and mercenary this terrible need for money makes one."

"You want it very much, mother? There is trouble in your voice; tell me what it is."

"There is no special pressure, dear, just now; but unless I am more successful with my pen I greatly fear I shall get into debt before I can liberate myself from that house. Yet if I do, what will become of Ada and the boys?" She paused to cough.

Katherine was silent; the tone of her mother's voice told more than her words. "But," resumed Mrs. Liddell, "all is not black. The Dalston Weekly has taken my short story, and given me ten pounds for it. However, you must take the bad with the good; my poor three-decker has come back on my hands."

Katherine uttered a low exclamation. "I did hope they would have taken it! and what miserable pay for that bright, pretty story! Mother, I cannot believe that the novel will fail. Do, do try Santley & Son! I have always heard they were such nice people. Try—promise me you will."

"Dear Katie, I will do whatever you ask me; but—but I confess I feel as if Hope, who has always befriended me, had turned her back at last. I am so dreadfully tired! I feel as if I was never to rest. Oh for a couple of years of peace before I go hence, and a certainty that you would not want!"

"Do not fear for me," cried Katherine, pressing her mother to her and covering her pale cheeks with kisses. "For myself I fear nothing, but for you, I greatly fear you are unwell; you breathe shortly; your hands are feverish. Do not let hope go. A few weeks and my uncle will be stronger, or he may be invigorated by feeling he has killed out the other old man, and then I will go back to you and help you, whatever happens. I won't stay here to act compound interest. My own darling mother, keep up your heart."

"I am ashamed of myself," said Mrs. Liddell, in an unsteady voice. "I ought not to have grieved your young heart with my depression, for I have been depressed."

"Why not? What is the good of youth and strength if it is not to uphold those who have already had more than their share of life's burdens?"

"I assure you this outpouring has relieved me greatly; I shall return like a giant refreshed," said Mrs. Liddell, rallying gallantly; "and you may depend on my trying the fortune of my poor novel once more, with Santley & Son. Now tell me how your domestic management prospers."

A long confidential discussion ensued, and at last Mrs. Liddell was obliged to leave.

Katherine went to tell her uncle she was going to set her mother on her way, and to see his cup of beef tea served to him. His remark almost startled her. "Very well," he said. "Come back soon."

This interview agitated Katherine more than Mrs. Liddell knew. Her worn look, her cough, her unwonted depression, thrilled her daughter's warm heart with a passion of tender longing to be with her, to help her, to give her the rest she so sorely needed; and in the solitude of her large dreary room she sobbed herself to sleep, her lips still quivering with the loving epithets she had murmured to herself.



CHAPTER VIII.

"THE LONG TASK IS DONE."

The facility with which human nature assimilates new conditions is among its most remarkable attributes. A week had scarcely elapsed since John Liddell's sudden indisposition and subsidence into an invalid condition, yet it seemed to Katherine that he had been breakfasting in bed for ages, and might continue to do so for another cycle without change. Her inexperience took no warning from the rapidly developing signs of decadence and failing force which Mr. Newton perceived; and, on the whole, she found her task of housekeeper and caretaker less ungrateful since weakness had subdued her uncle, and the friendly lawyer had been appointed paymaster.

The days sped with the swiftness monotony lends to time. Mrs. Liddell always visited her daughter once a week. Occasionally Katherine got leave of absence, and spent an hour or two at home, where she enjoyed a game of play with her little nephews. Otherwise home was less homelike than formerly. Ada was sulky and dissatisfied; she dared not intrude on Mr. Liddell in his present condition; and she was dreadfully annoyed at not being able to give Colonel Ormonde any encouraging news on this head. Her influence on the family circle, therefore, was not cheerful. Besides this, though Mrs. Liddell kept a brave front, and did not again allow herself the luxury of confidence in her daughter, there were unmistakable signs of care and trouble in her face, her voice. She was unfailing in her kind forbearance to the woman her son had loved, and whatever good existed in Mrs. Fred's rubbishy little heart responded to the genial, broad humanity of her mother-in-law. But Katherine perceived, or thought she perceived, that Mrs. Liddell was wearing herself down in the effort to make her inmates comfortable, and so to beat out her scanty store of sovereigns as to make them stretch to the margin of her necessities. It was a very shadowy and narrow pass through which her road of life led Katherine at this period, nor was there much prospect beyond. Moreover, as her mother had anticipated, the invisible cords which bound her to the moribund old miser were tightening their hold more and more, she often looked back and wondered at the sort of numbness which stole over her spirit during this time of trial.

September was now in its first week; the weather was wet and cold; and Katherine was thankful when Mr. Newton's weekly visit was due. It was particularly stormy that day, and he was a little later than usual.

When she had left solicitor and client together for some time, she descended, as was her custom, to make a cup of tea for the former, and give her uncle his beef tea or jelly.

Mr. Newton rose, shook hands with her, and then resumed his conversation with Mr. Liddell.

"I do not for a moment mean to say that he is a reckless bettor or a mere gambling horse-racer; and, after all, to enter a horse or two for the local races, or even Newmarket, is perfectly allowable in a man of his fortune—it will neither make him nor mar him."

"It will mar him," returned Mr. Liddell, in more energetic tones than Katherine had heard him utter since he was laid up. "A man who believes he is rich enough to throw away money is on the brink of ruin. He appears to me in a totally different light. I thought he was steady, thoughtful, alive to the responsibility of his position. Ah, who is to be trusted? Who?"

There seemed no reply to this, for Mr. Newton started a new and absorbing topic.

"Mr. Fergusson is keeping wonderfully well," he remarked. "His sister was calling on my wife yesterday, and says that since he took this new food—'Revalenta Arabica,' I think it is called—he is quite a new man."

"What food is that?" asked Mr. Liddell. While Newton explained, Katherine reflected with some wonder on the fact that there was a Mrs. Newton; it had never come to her knowledge before. She tried to imagine the precise lawyer in love. How did he propose? Surely on paper, in the most strictly legal terms! Could he ever have felt the divine joy and exultation which loving and being loved must create? Had he little children? and oh! did he, could he, ever dance them on his knee? He was a good man, she was sure, but goodness so starched and ironed was a little appalling.

These fancies lasted till the description of Revalenta Arabica was ended; then Mr. Liddell said, "Tell my niece where to get it." Never had he called her niece before; even Mr. Newton looked surprised. "I will send you the address," he said. "And here, Miss Liddell, is the check for next week."

"I have still some money from the last," said Katherine, blushing. "I had better give it to you, and then the check need not be interfered with." She hated to speak of money before her uncle.

"As you like. You are a good manager, Miss Liddell."

"Give it to me," cried the invalid from his easy-chair; "I will put it in my bureau. I have a few coins there, and they can go together."

"Very well; but had not my uncle better write an acknowledgment? We shall be puzzled about the money when we come to reckon up at the end of the month, if he does not."

Katherine had been taught by severe experience the necessity of saving herself harmless when handling Mr. Liddell's money.

"An acknowledgment," repeated the old man, with a slight, sobbing, inward laugh. "That is well thought. Yes, by all means write it out, Mr. Newton, and I will sign. Oh yes; I will sign!"

Newton turned to the writing-table and traced a few lines, bringing it on the blotting-pad for his client's signature.

"I can sign steadily enough still," said Mr. Liddell, slowly, "and my name is good for a few thousands. Hey?"

"That it certainly is, Mr. Liddell."

"Do you think old Fergusson could sign as steadily as that?" asked Mr. Liddell, with a slight, exulting smile.

"I should say not. What writing of his I have seen was a terrible scrawl."

"Hum! he wasn't a gentleman, you know. He drank too; not to be intoxicated, but too much—too much! For he will find the temperance man too many for him. I'll win the race, the waiting race;" and he laughed again in a distressing, hysterical fashion, that quite exhausted him.

Katherine flew to fetch cold water, while the old man leaning back panting and breathless, and Mr. Newton, much alarmed, fanned him with a folded newspaper.

He gradually recovered, but complained much of the beating of his heart. Mr. Newton wished to send for the doctor, but Mr. Liddell would not hear of it. Then he urged his allowing the servant at least to sleep on the sofa in the front parlor, leaving the door into Mr. Liddell's room open. To this the object of his solicitude was also opposed, so Mr. Newton bade him farewell. Katherine, however, waylaid him in the hall, and they held a short conference.

"He really ought not to be left alone at night."

"No, he must not," said Katherine. "I will make our servant spend the night in the parlor. She can easily open the door after the lights are out, without his being vexed by knowing she is there. I could not sleep if I thought he was alone. I will come very early in the morning to relieve her."

"Do, my dear young lady. I will call on the doctor and beg him to come round early."

"Do you think my uncle so ill, then?"

"He is greatly changed, and his weakness makes me uneasy. I trust in God he may be spared a little longer."

Katherine looked and felt surprised at the fervor of his tone. Little did she dream the real source of the friendly lawyer's anxiety to prolong a very profitless existence.

After a few more remarks and a promise to come at any time if he were needed, Mr. Newton departed; and Katherine got through the dreary evening as best she could.

How she longed to summon her mother! but she feared to irritate her uncle, who was evidently unequal to bear the slightest agitation.

Next day was unusually cold, and though Mr. Liddell had passed a tranquil night, he seemed averse to leave his bed. He lay there very quietly, and listened to the papers being read, and it was late in the afternoon before he would get up and dress. From this time forward he rarely rose till dusk, and it grew more and more an effort to him. He was always pleased to see Mr. Newton, and to converse a little with him. He even spoke with tolerable civility to Mrs. Liddell when she came to see her daughter.

As the weather grew colder—and autumn that year was very wintry—he objected more and more to leave his bed, and at last came to sitting up only for a couple of hours in the chair by his bedroom fire. It was during one of these intervals that Katherine, who had been racking her brains for something to talk of that would interest him, bethought her of a transaction in old newspapers which Mrs. Knapp had brought to a satisfactory conclusion. She therefore took out "certain moneys" from her purse.

"We have sold the newspapers at last, uncle," she said. "I kept back some for our own use, so all I could get was a shilling and three half-pence." She placed the coins on a little table which stood by his arm-chair, adding, "I suppose you know the Scotch saying, 'Many mickles make a muckle'; even a few pence are better than a pile of useless papers."

"I know," said Liddell, with feeble eagerness, clutching the money and transferring it to his little old purse. "It is a good saving—a wise saying. I did not think you knew it; but—but why did you keep back any?"

"Because one always needs waste paper in a house, to light fires and cover things from dust. I shall collect more next time," she added, seeing the old man was pleased with the idea.

He made no reply, but sat gazing at the red coals, his lips moving slightly, and the purse still in his hand. Again he opened it, and took out the coins she had given him, holding them to the fire-light in the hollow of his thin hand.

"Do you know the value of money?" he said at length, looking piercingly at her. "Do you know the wonderful life it has—a life of its own?"

"If the want of can teach its value I ought to know," she returned.

"You are wrong! Poverty never teaches its worth. You never hold it and study it when, the moment you touch it, you have to exchange it for commodities. No! it is when you can spare some for a precious seed, and watch its growth, and see—see its power of self-multiplication if it is let alone—just let alone," he repeated, with a touch of pathos in his voice. "Now these few pence, thirteen and a half in all—a boy with an accumulative nature and youth, early youth, on his side, might build a fortune on these. Yes, he might, if he had not a grovelling love of food and comfort."

"Do you think he really could?" asked Kate, interested in spite of herself in the theories of the old miser.

"Would you care to know?" said her uncle, fixing his keen dark eyes upon her.

"I should indeed." Her voice proved she was in earnest.

"Then I will tell you, step by step, but not to-night. I am too weary. You are different from the others—your father and your brother. You are—yes, you are—more like me."

"God forbid!" was Katherine's mental ejaculation.

Mr. Liddell slowly put the thirteenpence half penny back in his purse, drew forth his bunch of keys, looked at them, and restored them to his pocket; then, resting his head wearily against the chair, he said, "Give me something to take and I will go to bed."

Katherine hastened to obey, and summoned the servant to assist him, as usual.

The next morning was cold and wet, with showers of sleet, and Mr. Liddell declared he had taken a chill, and refused to get up. He was indisposed to eat, and did not show any interest in the newspaper. About noon the doctor called. Mr. Liddell answered his questions civilly enough, but did not respond to his attempts at conversation.

"Your uncle is in a very low condition," said the doctor, when he came into the next room, where Katherine awaited him. "You must do your best to make him take nourishment, and keep him as warm as possible. I suppose Mr. Newton is always in town?"

"I think so; at least I never knew him to be absent since I came here. I rather expect him to-day or to-morrow. Do you think my uncle seriously ill?"

"He is not really ill, but he has an incurable complaint—old age. He ought not to be so weak as he is; still, he may last some time, with your good care."

Katherine took her needle-work and settled herself to keep watch by the old man. The doctor's inquiry for Mr. Newton had startled her, but his subsequent words allayed her fears. "He may last for some time," conveyed to her mind the notion of an indefinite lease of life.

Mr. Liddell seemed to be slumbering peacefully, when, after a long silence, during which Katherine's thoughts had traversed many a league of land and sea, he said suddenly, in stronger tones than usual, "Are you there?" He scarcely ever called her by her name.

"I am," said Katherine, coming to the bedside.

"Here, take these keys"—he drew them from under his pillows; "this one unlocks that bureau"—pointing to a large old-fashioned piece of furniture, dark and polished, which stood on one side of the fireplace; "open it, and in the top drawer left you will find a long, folded paper. Bring it to me."

Katherine did as he directed, and could not help seeing the words, "Will of John Wilmot Liddell," and a date some seven or eight years back, inscribed upon it. She handed it to her uncle, arranging his pillows so that he might sit up more comfortably, while she rather wondered at the commonplace aspect of so potent an instrument. A will, she imagined, was something huge, of parchment, with big seals attached.

John Liddell slowly put on his spectacles, and unfolding the paper, read for some time in silence.

"This will not do," he said at last, clearly and firmly. "I was mistaken in him. The care for and of money must be born in you; it cannot be taught. No, I can make a better disposition. Could you take care of money, girl?" he asked sternly.

"I should try," returned Katherine, quietly.

There was a pause. The old man lay thinking, his lean, brown hand lying on the open paper. "Write," he said at length, so suddenly and sharply that he startled his niece; get paper and write to Newton. Katherine brought the writing materials, and placed herself at the small table.

"Dear sir," he dictated—"Be so good as to come to me as soon as convenient. I wish to make a will more in accordance with my present knowledge than any executed by me formerly. I am, yours faithfully."

Katherine brought over pen and paper, and the old man affixed his signature clearly.

"Now fold it up and send it to post. No—take it yourself; then it will be safe, and so much the better for you."

Katherine called the good-natured Mrs. Knapp to take her place, and sallied forth. She was a good deal excited. Was she in a crisis of her fate? Would her grim old uncle leave her wherewithal to give the dear mother rest and peace for the remainder of her days? It would not take much; would he—oh, would he remember the poor little boys? She never dreamed of more than a substantial legacy; the bulk of his fortune he might leave to whom he liked. How dreadful it was that money should be such a grim necessity!

She felt oppressed, and made a small circuit returning, to enjoy as much fresh air as she could, and called at some of the shops where she was accustomed to deal, to save sending the servant later. She was growing a little nervous, and disliked being left alone in the house.

When she returned, her uncle was very much in the same attitude; but he had folded up his will and placed his hand under his head.

"You have been very long," he said, querulously.

Katherine said she had been at one or two shops.

"Read to me," he said, "I am tired thinking; but first lock the bureau and give me the keys; you left them hanging in the lock. I have never taken my eyes from them. Now I have them," he added, putting them under his pillow, "I can rest. Here, take this"—handing her the will: "put it in the drawer of my writing-table; we may want it to morrow; and I do not wish that bureau opened again; everything is there."

Having placed the will as he desired, Katherine began to read, and the rest of the day passed as usual.

She could not, however, prevent herself from listening for Mr. Newton's knock. She felt sure he would hasten to his client as soon as he had read his note. He would be but too glad to draw up another and a juster will.

Without a word, without the slightest profession of friendship, Newton had managed to impress Katherine with the idea that he was anxious to induce Mr. Liddell to do what was right to his brother's widow and daughter.

But night closed in, and no Mr. Newton came. Mr. Liddell was unusually wakeful and restless, and seemed on the watch himself, his last words that night being, "I am sure Newton will be here in good time to-morrow."

Instead, the morrow brought a dapper and extremely modern young man, the head of the firm in right of succession, his late father having founded the house of Stephens & Newton.

Mr. Liddell had just been made comfortable in his great invalid's chair by the fire, having risen earlier than usual in expectation of Mr. Newton's visit. When this gentleman presented himself, Katherine observed that her uncle was in a state of tremulous impatience, and the moment she saw the stranger she felt that some unlucky accident had prevented Newton from obeying his client's behest.

"Who—what?" gasped Mr. Liddell, when a card was handed to him. "Read it," to Katherine.

"Mr. Stephens, of Stephens & Newton, Red Lion Square," she returned.

"I will not see him, I do not want him," cried her uncle, angrily. "Where is Newton? Go ask him?"

With an oppressive sense of embarrassment, Katherine went out into the hall, and confronted a short, slight young man with exceedingly tight trousers, a colored cambric tie, and a general air of being on the turf. He held a white hat in one hand, and on the other, which was ungloved, he wore a large seal ring. Katherine did not know how to say that her uncle would not see him, but the stranger took the initiative.

"Aw—I have done myself the honor of coming in person to take Mr. Liddell's instructions, as Mr. Newton was called out of town by very particular business yesterday morning. I rather hoped he might return last night, but a communication this morning informs us he will be detained till this afternoon, not reaching town till 9.30 P.M. I am prepared to execute any directions in my partner's stead."

He spoke with an air of condescension, as if he did Mr. Liddell a high honor, and made a step forward. Katherine did not know what to say. It was terrible to keep this consequential little man in the hall, and there was literally nowhere else to take him.

"I am so sorry, but my uncle is very unwell and nervous. I do not think he could see any one but Mr. Newton, who is an old friend, you know," she added, deprecatingly.

"I am his legal adviser too," returned the young man, with a slightly offended air. "I am the senior partner and head of the house, and the worse Mr. Liddell is, the greater the necessity for his giving instructions respecting his will."

"I will tell him Mr. Newton is away," said Katherine, courteously; "and—would you mind sitting down here? I am quite distressed not to have any better place to offer you, but I cannot help it."

"It is of no consequence," returned the young lawyer, struck by her sweet tones and simple good-breeding, yet looking round him at the worn oil-cloth and shabby stair-carpeting with manifest amazement.

"Mr. Newton is out of town, and does not return till late this evening," said Katherine, returning to the irate old man. "This gentleman says he is the head of the firm, and will do your bidding in Mr. Newton's stead."

"Tell him he shall do nothing of the kind," returned Mr. Liddell, in a weak, hoarse, impatient voice. "I saw him once, and I know him; he is an ignorant, addle-pated jackanapes. He shall not muddle my affairs; send him away; I can wait for Newton. I don't suppose I am going to die to-night."

And Katherine, blushing "celestial rosy red," hied back to the smart young man, who was reposing himself on the only seat the entrance boasted, and conjecturing that if this fine, fair, soft-spoken girl was to be the old miser's heir, she would be almost deserving of his own matrimonial intentions.

"My uncle begs me to apologize to you, Mr. Stephens, but he is so much accustomed to Mr. Newton, and in such a nervous state, that he would prefer waiting till that gentleman can come."

"Oh, very well; only I wish I had known before—I came up here at some inconvenience; and also wish Mr. Liddell could be persuaded that delays are dangerous."

"The delay is not for very long. I am sorry you had this fruitless trouble. Mr. Liddell is very weak."

"I am sure if anything could restore him, it would be the care of such a nurse as you must be," with a bow and a grin.

"Thank you; good-morning," said Katherine, with such an air of decided dismissal that the young senior partner at once departed.

Mr. Liddell fretted and fumed for an hour or two before he had exhausted himself sufficiently to sit still and listen to Katherine's reading; and after he had apparently sunk into a doze, he suddenly started up and exclaimed: "That idiot, young Stephens, will never think of sending to his house. Write—write to Newton's private residence."

"I think Mr. Stephens will, uncle. He seemed anxious to meet your wishes."

"Don't be a fool—do as I bid you! Get the paper and pen. Are you ready?"

"I am."

"Dear sir, Let nothing prevent your coming to me to-morrow," he dictated; "I want to make my will. It is important that affairs be not left in confusion. Yours truly. Give me the pen," he went on, in the same breath. "I can sign as well as ever. Now go you yourself and put this in the post. I do not trust that woman—they all stop and gossip, and I want this to go by the next despatch."

Katherine, always thankful to be in the air, went readily enough. She was distressed to find how the nervous uneasiness of yesterday was growing on her. The perpetual companionship of the grim old skeleton, her uncle, was making her morbid, she thought; she must ask leave to go and spend a day at home to see how her mother was getting on, to refresh herself by a game of romps with the children. Why, she felt absolutely growing old!

When she re-entered the house she found, much to her satisfaction, that the doctor was with Mr. Liddell; and after laying aside her out-door dress, she went to the parlor.

"I have been advising Mr. Liddell to try the effect of a few glasses of champagne," said the former, who was looking rather grave, Katherine thought. "But as there is none in his cellar, he objects. Now you must help me to persuade him. I am going on to a patient in Regent's Park, and shall pass a very respectable wine-merchant's on my way; so I shall just take the law into my own hands and order a couple of bottles for you. Consider it medicine. It is wonderful how much more generally champagne is used than when you and I were young, my dear sir!" etc., etc., he went on, with professional cheerfulness. But Mr. Liddell did not heed him much.

"He is very weak. The action of the heart is extremely feeble," said the doctor, when Katherine followed him to the door. "Try and make him take the champagne."

Another day dragged through; then Katherine, rather worn with the constant involuntary sense of watching which had strained her nerves all day, slept soundly and dreamlessly. She woke early next morning, and was soon dressed. Mrs. Knapp reported Mr. Liddell to be still slumbering.

"But law, miss, he have had a bad night—the worst yet, I think. He was dreaming and tossing from side to side, and then he would scream out words I couldn't understand. I made him take some wine between two and three, but I do not think he knew me a bit. I have had a dreadful night of it."

Katherine expressed her sympathy, and did what she could to lighten the good woman's labors.

Mr. Liddell, however, though he looked ghastly, seemed rather stronger than usual. He insisted on getting up, and came into the sitting-room about eleven.

It was a cold morning, with a thick, drizzling rain. Katherine made up the fire to a cheerful glow, and by her uncle's directions placed pen, ink and paper on the small table he always had beside him. Then he uttered the accustomed commanding "Read," and Katherine read.

Suddenly he interrupted her by exclaiming, "Give me the deaths first."

It had been a whim of his latterly to have this lugubrious list read to him every day.

Katherine had hardly commenced when she descried Mr. Newton's well-known figure advancing from the garden gate.

"Ah, here is Mr. Newton!" she exclaimed.

"Ha! that is well," cried her uncle, with shrill exultation. "Now—now all will go right."

The next moment the lawyer was shown in, and having greeted them, proceeded to apologize for his unavoidable absence. "Here I am, however, sir," he concluded, "at your service."

"Go—leave us," said Liddell, abruptly yet not unkindly, to Katherine; then, as she left the room, "Finish the deaths for me, will you, before we go to business. She had just read the first two. Read—make haste!"

Somewhat surprised, Mr. Newton took up the paper and continued: "On the 30th September, at Wimbledon, universally regretted, the Rev. James Johnson, formerly minister of "Little Bethel, Bermondsey." On October 1st, at her residence, Upper Clapton, Esther, relict of Captain Doubleday, late of the E. I. C. Service. On the 2nd instant, at Bournemouth, Peter Fergusson, of Upper Baker Street, in the seventy-fifth year of his age."

"Fergusson dead! and he is three years my junior! Now it is all mine—all!—all! I shall be able to settle it as I like. I haven't eaten and drunk in vain. I'm strong, quite strong. All the papers are there, in my bureau. I'll show them to you. Aha! I thought I'd outlive him! I was determined to outlive him!"

With an uncanny laugh he struggled to his feet, and attempted to walk to his bedroom, his stick in one hand and the keys he had taken from his pocket in the other. For a few steps he walked with a degree of strength that astonished Newton; then he gave a deep groan, staggered, and fell to the ground with a crash.

Newton rushed to raise him, which he did with some difficulty. The noise brought the servant to his assistance.

"Go! fetch Dr. Bilhane," said Mr. Newton, as soon as they had laid the helpless body on the bed. "Though I doubt if he can do anything. The old man is gone."



CHAPTER IX.

"TEMPTATION."

To Katherine, who was in her own room, the sound beneath came with a subdued force, and knowing Mr. Newton was with him, she thought it better to stay where she was, for it never struck her that Mr. Liddell had fallen.

When, therefore, Mrs. Knapp, with that eagerness to spread evil tidings peculiar to her class, rushed upstairs to announce breathlessly that she was going for the doctor, but that the poor old gentleman was quite dead, Katherine could not believe her.

She quickly descended to the parlor, where she found Mr. Newton standing by the fire, looking pale and anxious.

"Oh, Mr. Newton, he cannot be dead!" cried Katherine. "He seemed stronger this morning, and he has fainted more than once. Let me bathe his temples." She took a bottle of eau-de-Cologne from the sideboard as she spoke.

"My dear young lady, both your servant and I have done what we could to revive him, and I fear—I believe he has passed away. The start and the triumph of finding himself the last survivor of the Tontine association were too much for his weak heart. I would not go in if I were you: death is appalling to the young."

Katherine stopped, half frightened, yet ashamed of her fear. "Oh yes; I must satisfy myself that I can do nothing more for him. Can it be possible that he will never speak again—never search for news of that other poor old man?" She went softly into the next room, followed by Newton, and approaching the bed, laid her hand gently on his brow. "How awfully cold!" she whispered, shrinking back in spite of herself at the unutterable chill of death. "But he looks so peaceful, so different from what he did in life!" She stood gazing at him, silent, awe-struck.

"Come away," said Newton, kindly. "The doctor will be here, I trust, in a few minutes, and will be able to give a certificate which will save the worry of an inquest."

Katherine obeyed his gesture of entreaty, and went slowly into the front room, where she sat down, leaning her elbows on the table and covering her face with her hands, while Mr. Newton closed the door.

It was all over, then, her hopes and fears; the poor wasted life, as much wasted and useless as if spent in the wildest and most extravagant follies, was finished. What had it left behind? Nothing of good to any human being; no blessing of loving-kindness, of help and sympathy, to any suffering brother wayfarer on life's high-road; nothing but hard, naked gold—gold which, from what she had heard, would go to one already abundantly provided. Ah, she must not think of that gold so sorely needed, or bad, unseemly ideas would master her!

But Mr. Newton was speaking. "It is fortunate I was here to be some stay to you," he said; "the shock must be very great, and—" He interrupted himself hastily to exclaim, "Here is the doctor! I shall go with him into our poor friend's room; let me find you here when I come back." Katherine bent her head, and remained in the same attitude, thinking, thinking.

How long it was before the kind lawyer returned she did not know; but he came and stood by her, the doctor behind him.

"It is as I supposed," said Newton, in a low tone. "Life is quite extinct." Katherine rose and confronted them, looking very white.

"Yes," added the doctor; "death must have been instantaneous. Your uncle was in a condition which made him liable to succumb under the slightest shock. Can you give me paper and ink? I will write a certificate at once. Then, Miss Liddell, I shall look to you."

Katherine placed the writing materials before him silently, and watched him trace the lines; then he handed the paper to Mr. Newton, saying, "You will see to what is necessary I presume," and rising he took Katherine's hand and felt her pulse. "Very unsteady indeed; I would recommend a glass of wine now, and at night a composing draught, which I will send. If I can do nothing more I must go on my rounds. I shall be at home again about six, should you require my services in any way."

He went out, followed by Mr. Newton, and they spoke together for a few moments before the doctor entered his carriage and drove off.

"Now, my dear," said Mr. Newton, when he returned—the startling event of the morning seemed to have taken off the sharp edge of his precision—"what shall you do? I suppose you would like to go home. It would be rather trying for you to stay here."

"To go home!" returned Katherine, slowly. "Yes, I should, oh, very much! but I will not go. My uncle never was unkind to me, and I will stay in his house until he is laid in his last resting place. Yet I do not like to stay alone. May I have my mother with me?"

"Yes, by all means. I tell you what, I will drive over and break the news to her myself; then she can come to you at once. I have a very particular appointment in the city this afternoon, but I shall arrange to spend to-morrow forenoon here, and examine the contents of that bureau. I have thought it well to take possession of your uncle's keys."

"Yes, of course," said Katherine; "you ought to have them. And you will go and send my mother to me! I shall feel quite well and strong if she is near. How good of you to think of it!" and she raised her dark tearful eyes so gratefully to his that the worthy lawyer's heart kindled within him.

"My dear young lady, I have rarely, if ever, regretted anything so much as my unfortunate absence yesterday, though had I been able to answer my late client's first summons, I doubt if time would have permitted the completion of a new will. Now my best hope, though it is a very faint one, is that he may have destroyed his last will, and so died intestate."

"Why?" asked Katherine, indifferently. She felt very hopeless.

"It would be better for you. You would, I rather think, be the natural heir." Katherine only shook her head. "Of course it is not likely. Still, I have known him destroy one will before he made another. He has made four or five, to my knowledge. So it is wiser not to hope for anything. I shall always do what I can for you. Now you are quite cold and shivering. I would advise your going to your room, and keeping there out of the way. You can do no more for your uncle, and I will send your mother to you as soon as I can. I suppose you have the keys of the house?"

Katherine bowed her head. She seemed tongue-tied. Only when Mr. Newton took her hand to say good-by she burst out, "You will send my mother to me soon—soon!"

Then she went away to her own room. Locking the door, she sat down and buried her face in the cushions of the sofa. She felt her thoughts in the wildest confusion, as if some separate exterior self was exerting a strange power over her. It had said to her, "Be silent," when Mr. Newton spoke of the possibility of not finding the will, and she had obeyed without the smallest intention to do good or evil. Some force she could not resist—or rather she did not dream of resisting—imposed silence on her. To what had this silence committed her? To nothing. When Mr. Newton came and examined the bureau he would no doubt open the drawer of the writing-table also. She had locked it, and put the key in the little basket where the keys of her scantily supplied store closet and of the cellaret lay: there it stood on the round table near the window, with her ink-bottle and blotting-book. She sat up and looked at it fixedly. That little key was all that intervened between her and rest, freedom, enjoyment. The more she recalled her uncle's words and manner on the day he had dictated his first note to Mr. Newton, the more convinced she felt that he had intended to provide for her, and now his intentions would be frustrated, and the will the old man wished to suppress would be the instrument by which his possessions would be distributed.

It was too bad. She did not know how closely the hope of her mother's emancipation from the long hard struggle with poverty and its attendant evils by means of Uncle Liddell's possible bequest had twined itself round her heart. Now she could not give it up. It seemed to her that her mental grasp refused to relax.

She rose and began to make some little arrangement for her mother's comfort, and presently the servant came to ask if she would take some tea.

"I'm sure, miss, you must be faint for want of food, and we are just going to have some—the woman and me."

"What woman?"

"A very respectable person as Dr. Bilham sent in to—to attend to the poor old gentleman, miss."

"Ah! thank you. I could not take anything now. I expect my mother soon; then I shall be glad of some tea.

"Well, miss, you'll ring if you want me. And dear me! you ought to have a bit of fire. I'll light one up in a minnit."

"Not till you have had your tea. I am not cold."

"You look awful bad, miss!" With this comforting assurance Mrs. Knapp departed, leaving the door partially open.

A muffled sound, as if people were moving softly and cautiously, was wafted to Katherine as she sat and listened: then a door closed gently; voices murmuring in a subdued tone reached her ear, retreating as if the speakers had gone downstairs.

Katherine went to the window. It was a wretchedly dark, drizzling afternoon—cold too, with gusts of wind. She hoped Mr. Newton would make her mother take a cab. It was no weather for her to stand about waiting for an omnibus. Would the time ever come when they need not think of pennies?

Suddenly she turned, took a key from her basket, and walked composedly downstairs, unlocked the drawer of the writing-table, and took out her uncle's last will and testament. Then she closed the drawer, leaving the key in the lock, as it had always been, and returned to her room.

Having fastened her door, she applied herself to read the document. It was short and simple, and with the exception of a small legacy to Mr. Newton, left all the testator possessed to a man whose name was utterly unknown to her. Mr. Newton was the sole executor, and the will was dated nearly seven years back.

Katherine read it through a second time, and then very deliberately folded it up. "It shall not stand in my way," she murmured, her lips closing firmly, and she sat for a few minutes holding it tight in her hand, as she thought steadily what she should do. "Had my uncle lived a few hours more, this would have been destroyed or nullified. I will carry out his intentions. I wonder what is the legal penalty for the crime or felony I am going to commit? At all events I shall risk it. The only punishment I fear is my mother's condemnation. She must never know. It is a huge theft, whether the man I rob is rich or poor. I hope he is very rich. I know I am doing a great wrong; that if others acted as I am acting there would be small security for property—perhaps for life—but I'll do it. Shall I ever be able to hold up my head and look honest folk in the face! I will try. If I commit this robbery I must not falter nor repent. I must be consistently, boldly false, and I must get done with it before my dearest mother comes. How grieved and disappointed she would be if she knew! She believes so firmly in my truthfulness. Well, I have been true, and I will be, save in this. Here I will lie by silence. Where shall I hide it? for I will not destroy it—not yet at least. No elaborate concealment is necessary."

She rose up and took some thin brown paper—such as is used in shops to wrap up lace and ribbons—and folded the will in it neatly, tying it up with twine, and writing on it, "old MSS., to be destroyed." Then she laid it in the bottom of her box. "If my mother sees it, the idea of old MS. will certainly deter her from looking at it." She put back the things she had taken out and closed the box; then she stood for a moment of thought. What would the result be? Who could tell? Some other unknown Liddells might start up to share the inheritance. Well, she would not mind that much; so long as she could secure some years of modest competence to her mother, some help for her little nephews, she would be content.

Now that she had accomplished what an hour ago was a scarcely entertained idea, she felt wonderfully calm, but curious as to how things would turn out, with the sort of curiosity she might have felt with regard to the action of another.

She did not want to be still any more, however; she went to and fro in her room, dusting it and putting it in order; she rearranged her own hair and dress, and then she went to the window to watch for her mother. Time had gone swiftly while her thoughts had been so intensely occupied, and to her great delight she soon saw a cab drive up, from which Mrs. Liddell descended.

Katherine flew to receive her, and in the joy of feeling her mother once more by her side she temporarily forgot the sense of a desperate deed which had oppressed her.

Mrs. Liddell had been much shocked by the sudden death of her brother-in-law, but her chief anxiety was to fly to Katie, to shorten the terrible hours of loneliness in the house of mourning.

She too honestly confessed her regret that the old man had been cut off before he could fulfil his intention of making a new will, "though," she said to her daughter as they talked together, "we cannot be sure that he would have remembered us—or rather you. But there is no use in thinking of what is past out of the range of possibilities. Let us only hope whoever is heir will not insist on immediate repayment of that loan. It is strange that you should have managed to make the poor old man's acquaintance, and to a certain degree succeed with him, only in his last days."

"Try and talk of something else, mother dear. It is all so ghastly and oppressive! Tell me about Ada and the boys."

"Ada was out when Mr. Newton came. I left a little note telling her of your uncle's awfully sudden death, and of my intention of remaining with you until after the funeral. What a state of excitement she will be in! I have no doubt she will be here to-morrow."

"Very likely," said Katherine, who was pouring out tea.

"Did Mr. Newton mention to you that your uncle had written to him to come and draw up a new will?"

"Why, I wrote the note, which my uncle signed."

"Yes, of course; I had forgotten. But did Mr. Newton say that he had a faint hope that he might have destroyed the other will?"

"He did; but it is not probable."

"It would make an immense difference to us if he had."

"Would it?" asked Kate, to extract an answer from her mother.

"Mr. Newton believes that if he died intestate you would inherit everything."

"What! would not the little boys share?"

"I am not sure. But to get away from the subject, which somehow always draws me back to it, I have one bit of good news for you, my darling. I had a letter from Santley this morning. He will take my novel, and will give me a hundred and fifty pounds for it."

"Really? Oh, this is glorious news! I am so delighted! Then you will get more for the next; you will become known and appreciated."

"Do not be too sure; it may be a failure. And at present I do not feel as if I should ever have any ideas again. My brain seems so weary."

"Perhaps," whispered Katherine, "you may be able to rest. You are looking very tired and ill."

Somewhat to her own surprise, Katherine slept profoundly that night. The delicious sense of comfort and security which her mother's presence brought soothed her ineffably. It seemed as if no harm could touch her while she felt the clasp of those dear arms.

The early forenoon brought Mr. Newton, and after a little preliminary talk respecting the arrangements he had made for the funeral, he proposed to look for the will which he had drawn up some years before, and which, to the best of his recollection, Mr. Liddell had taken charge of himself.

"Might you not wait until the poor old man is laid in his last home? asked Mrs. Liddell.

"Perhaps it would be more seemly," said the lawyer; "but it is almost necessary to know who is the heir and who is the executor. Besides, it is quite possible that since he signed the will I drew up for him in '59, and to which I was executor, he may have made another, of which I know nothing, and I may have to communicate with some other executor. I will therefore begin the search at once. Would you and your daughter like to be present?"

"Thank you, no," returned Mrs. Liddell.

"I would rather not," said Katherine.

Mr. Newton proceeded on his search alone, while Mrs. Liddell and her daughter went to the latter's room, anxious to keep from meddling with what did not concern them.

Scarcely had the former settled herself to write a letter to an old friend in Florence with whom she kept up a steady though not a frequent correspondence, when she was interrupted by a tap at the door. Before she could say "Come in," it was opened to admit Mrs. Frederic Liddell, who came in briskly. She had taken out a black dress with crape on it, and retouched a mourning bonnet, so that she presented an appearance perfectly suited to the occasion.

"Oh dear!" she cried, "I have been in such a state ever since I had your note! I thought I should never get away this morning. The stupidity of those servants is beyond description. Now do tell all about everything." She sat down suddenly, then jumped up, kissed her mother-in-law on the brow, and shook hands with Katherine.

"There is very little more to tell beyond what I said in my note," returned Mrs. Liddell. "The poor old man never spoke or showed any symptom of life after he fell. Mr Newton, of course, will make all arrangements. The funeral will be on Friday, and Katherine and I will remain here till it is over."

"And the will?" whispered Mrs. Frederic, eagerly. "Have you found out anything about that?"

Mrs. Liddell shook her head. "I have not even asked, so sure am I that it will not affect us in any way. Mr. Newton is now examining the bureau where my brother-in-law appears to have kept all his papers, hoping to find the will."

"Is it not cruel to think of all this wealth passing away from us?" cried the little woman, in a tearful tone.

"I do not suppose that John Liddell was wealthy," said Mrs. Liddell. "He was very careful of what he had, but it does not follow that he had a great deal."

"Oh, nonsense! My dear Mrs. Liddell, you only say that to keep us quiet. Misers always have heaps of money. What do you say, Katherine?"

"That from all I saw I should say he was not rich. He never mentioned large sums of money, or—"

"I do not mind you," interrupted the young widow. "You always affect to despise money."

"Indeed I do not, Ada. I am only afraid of thinking too much of it." Katherine perceived that her mother had wisely abstained from telling the whole circumstances to this most impulsive young person.

"And do you mean to say," pursued Mrs. Frederic, who could hardly keep still, so great was her excitement, "that the horrid lawyer is rummaging through the old man's papers all alone? You ought to be present, Mrs. Liddell. You don't know what tricks he may play. He may put a will in his own favor in some drawer. It is very weak not to have insisted on being present, and shows such indifference to our interests!"

"I am not afraid of Mr. Newton forging a will," said Mrs. Liddell, smiling; "and I greatly fear that whoever may profit by the old man's last testament, we will not. But I assure you Mr. Newton did ask me to assist in the search, and I declined. Indeed I asked him not to search while the poor remains were unburied."

"Why, my goodness! you do not mean to say you are pretending to be sorry for this rude—miser!" cried Mrs. Frederic, with uplifted hand and eyes.

"Personally I did not care about him, but, Ada, death demands respect."

"Oh yes, of course. Then there is absolutely nothing to do or to hear."

"Nothing," said Katherine, rather shortly.

"Could I go out and buy anything for you? Surely the executors, whoever they may be, will give you some money for mourning?"

"I do not think it at all likely. I will tell you what you can do, Ada: go to my large cupboard and bring me," etc., etc.—sundry directions followed. "Katherine and I can quite well do all that is necessary ourselves to make a proper appearance on Friday."

"Very well; and I will come to the funeral too, and bring the boys. A little crape on their caps and sleeves will be quite enough. They will produce a great effect. I dare say if I speak to Mrs. Burnett's friend, that newspaper man, he will put an account into the Morning News, with all our names. Whatever comes, it would have a good effect."

"Of course you can come if you like, Ada, but I would not bring the boys. Children are out of place except at a parent's grave."

"Well, I do not agree with you, and I do not think you need grudge my poor children that much recognition."

"Poor darlings! Do you believe we could grudge them anything that was good for them?" cried Katherine.

"Oh, there is no knowing! Pray is there any plate in the house, Katherine, or diamonds? You know the nephew's wife ought to have the diamonds!"

"Do not make me laugh, Ada, while the poor man is lying dead!" exclaimed Katherine, smiling. "The idea of plate or diamonds in this house is too funny!"

"Then are the spoons and forks only Sheffield ware?" asked her sister-in-law. "How mean!"

After a good deal more cross-examination Mrs. Fred rose to depart, her pretty childish face clouded, not to say very cross.

"I might have saved myself the trouble of coming here," she said.

"We are very glad to see you, and it will be a great help if you can send or bring the things I want."

"Perhaps, if I wait a little longer, this admirable Mr. Newton may find something," resumed Mrs. Fred, pausing, and reluctant to move.

"If he does I will let you know immediately," said Katherine; "but there are numbers of little drawers in the bureau; it will take him a long time to look through them all."

"Have you seen the inside of it?" asked Mrs. Fred, greedily.

"I have seen my uncle writing at it," returned Katherine; "but I never had an opportunity of examining it."

"Well, I suppose I had better go. I am evidently not wanted here!" exclaimed Mrs. Frederic, longing to quarrel with some one, being in that condition of mind aptly described as "not knowing what to be at." Finding no help from her auditors, she went reluctantly away.

"I wish poor Ada would not allow her imagination to run away with her. It will be such a disappointment when she finds it is all much ado about nothing," said Mrs. Liddell, as she returned to her letter. "I am afraid, Katie dear, you have had a great shock; you do not look a bit like yourself."

"I feel dazed and stupid, but I dare say I shall be all right to-morrow." She took a book and pretended to read, while her mother's pen scratched lightly and quickly over the paper.

The light was beginning to change, when a message from Mr. Newton summoned both mother and daughter to the sitting-room, where they found him awaiting them.

"I have looked most carefully through the bureau, and can find no sign of the will. There are various papers and account-books, a very clear statement of his affairs, and about a hundred and fifteen pounds of ready money, but no will. I have also looked in his writing-table drawer, his wardrobe, and every possible and impossible place. It may be at my office, though I am under the impression he took charge of it himself. There is a possibility he may have deposited it at his banker's or his stock-broker's, though that is not probable."

"It is curious," remarked Mrs. Liddell, feeling she must say something.

"Pray," resumed Newton, addressing Katherine, "have you ever seen him tearing up or burning papers?"

She thought for a moment, and then said quietly, "No, I never have."

"I can do no more here, at least to-day," Newton went on. "I must bid you a good-afternoon. You may be sure I will leave nothing undone to discover the missing will, and I can only say I earnestly hope I may not be successful."



CHAPTER X.

"FRUITION."

The funeral over, Mrs. Liddell and her daughter went back to their modest home, feeling as though they had passed through some strange dream, which had vanished, leaving "not a wrack behind."

To Katherine it was like fresh life to return to the natural cheerful routine of her daily cares and employments, to struggle good-humoredly with indifferent servants, to do battle with her little nephews over their lessons, to walk with them and tell them stories. At times she almost forgot that the diligently sought will lay in its innocent-looking cover among her clothes, or that any results would flow from her daring and criminal act; then again the consciousness of having weighted her life with a secret she must never reveal would press painfully upon her, and make her greedy for the moment when Mr. Newton would relinquish the search, and she should reap the harvest she expected.

She never believed that her uncle was as rich as Ada supposed, but she did hope for a small fortune which might secure comfort and ease.

Mrs. Frederic Liddell was a real affliction during this period. The idea of inheriting John Liddell's supposed wealth was never absent from her thoughts, and seldom from her lips. Even the boys were infected by her gorgeous anticipations.

"I shall have a pony like that, and a groom to ride beside me," Cecil would cry when his attention was caught by any young equestrian. "And I will give you a ride, auntie. Shall you have a carriage too, or will you drive with mammy?"

"And I shall have a beautiful dog, like Mrs. Burnett's, and a garden away in the country," was Charlie's scheme. "You shall come and dig in it, auntie."

"Do not think of such things, my dears," was auntie's usual reply. "I am afraid we shall never be any richer than we are; so you must be diligent boys, and work hard to make fortunes for yourselves."

"Where did Uncle Liddell keep all his money?" was one of Cecil's questions in reply. "Did he keep it in big bags downstairs? He hadn't a nice house; it was quite a nasty one."

"Had he a big place in a cave, with trees that grow rubies and diamonds and beautiful things?" added Charlie.

"Why doesn't mamma buy us some ponies now?" continued Cis; "we should be some time learning to ride."

"I will not listen to you any more if you talk so foolishly. Try and think of something else—of the Christmas pantomime. You know grannie says you shall go if you do your lessons well," returned Katherine.

"It isn't silly!" exclaimed Cecil. "Mammy tells us we must take care of her when we are rich men, and that we shall be able to hold up our heads as high as any one. I can hold up my head now."

Such conversations were of frequent occurrence, and kept Katherine in a state of mental irritation.

Toward the end of October Mrs. Burnett brought relief in the shape of an invitation to Mrs. Frederic.

The Burnett family were spending the "dark days before Christmas" at Brighton, and thither hied the lively young widow in great glee. Things generally went smoother in her absence; the boys were more obedient, the meals more punctual.

Nevertheless Katherine observed that her mother did not settle to her writing as usual. Occasionally she shut herself up in the study, but when Katherine came in unexpectedly she generally found her resting her elbow on the table and her head on her hand, gazing at the blank sheet before her, or leaning back in her chair, evidently lost in thought.

"You do not seem to take much to your writing, mother dear," said Katherine one morning as she entered and sat down on a stool beside her.

"In truth I cannot, Katie. I do not know how it is, but no plots will come. I have generally been able to devise something on which to hang my characters and events; but my invention, such as it is—or rather was—seems dried up and withered. What shall I do if my slight vein is exhausted? Heaven knows I produced nothing very original or remarkable, but my lucubrations were saleable, and I do not see how we can do without this source of income."

"You only want rest," returned Katherine, taking her hand and laying her cheek against it. "Your fancy wants a quiet sleep, and then it will wake up fresh and bright. Take a holiday; put away pen, ink, and paper; and you will be able to write a lovely story long before the money we expect for your novel is expended."

"I hope so." She paused, and then resumed, with a sigh: "I ought to have more sense and self-control at my age, but I confess that the uncertainty about John Liddell's will absorbs me. Suppose, Katie, that his money were to come to you. Imagine you and I rich enough not to be afraid of the week after next! Why, our lives would be too blissful."

"They would," murmured Katherine. "When do you think we shall know?"

"I cannot tell. All possible search must be made before the law can be satisfied. My own impression is that your uncle did destroy his will, intending to make a different distribution of his money, and to provide for you."

"Yes, I believe he did," said Katherine, quietly. "I wish—oh, I do wish my uncle had had time to divide his property between us all; then there would be no ill feeling. But I suppose Cis and Charlie will get some, even if no will is found?"

"I have no idea. If poor Fred had lived, I suppose he would take a share."

They sat silent for some minutes. Then Kate rose and very deliberately shut up her mother's writing-book, collected her papers and rough note-book, and locked them away in her drawer. "Now, dearest mother," she said, "promise me not to open that drawer for ten days at least, unless a very strong inspiration comes to you. By that time we may know something certain about the will, and at any rate you will have had change of occupation. Then put on your bonnet and let us go to see our friend Mrs. Wray. Perhaps she may let us see her husband's studio, and if he is there we are sure to have some interesting talk. We both sorely need a change of ideas."

Mrs. Frederic Liddell returned from Brighton in a very thoughtful mood. She said she had had a "heavenly visit." Such nice weather—such a contrast to dirty, dreary, depressing London! She had met several old acquaintances, they had had company every night, and had she only had a third evening dress her bliss would have been complete. As it was, a slight sense of inferiority had taken the keen edge off her joy. "At any rate, the men didn't seem to think there was much amiss with me. Sir Ralph Brereton and Colonel Ormonde were really quite troublesome. I do not much like Sir Ralph. I never know if he is laughing at me or not, though I am sure I do not think there is anything to laugh at in me. Colonel Ormonde is so kind and sensible! Do you know, Mrs. Liddell, he says I ought to see Mr. Newton myself, to look after the interests of my darling boys, and—and try to ascertain the true state of affairs. That is what Colonel Ormonde says, and I suppose you wouldn't mind, Mrs. Liddell?" she ended, in a rather supplicating tone; for she was just a little in awe of her mother-in-law, kind and indulgent though she was.

"Go and see Mr. Newton by all means, Ada, if you feel it would be any satisfaction to you; but until the right time comes it will be very useless to make any inquiries. We leave it all to Mr. Newton."

"Oh, you and Katherine are so cold and immovable; you are not a bit like me. I am all sensitiveness and impulse. Well, if it is not raining cats and dogs I will go into that awful City and see Mr. Newton to-morrow."

"Would it not be well to make an appointment?"

"Oh dear no! I will take my chance; I would not write. Katie dear, I have torn all the flounce off my black and white dinner dress; you are so much more clever with your needle than I am, would you sew it on for me to-morrow?"

"No, I cannot, Ada—not to-morrow at least. I am busy altering mother's winter cloak, and she has nothing warm to put on until it is finished. I will show you how to arrange the flounce, and you will soon do it yourself if you try."

"Very well"—rather sulkily. "I am sure I was intended to be a rich man's wife, I am so helpless."

"And I am sure I was born under 'a three-half-penny constellation,' as L. E. L. said, for I rather like helping myself," returned Katherine, laughing. "Only I should like to have a little exterior help besides."

"Do you know, Katherine, I am afraid you are very proud. I believe you think yourself the cleverest girl in the world."

"I should be much happier if I did," said Katherine, good-humoredly. "Don't be a goose, Ada; let my disposition alone. I am afraid it is too decidedly formed to be altered."

"Colonel Ormonde was asking for you," resumed Mrs. Frederic, fearing she had allowed her temper too much play. "He is quite an admirer of yours."

"I am much obliged to him. Would you like to come to the theatre to-night? Mr. and Mrs. Wray have a box at the Adelphi, and have offered us two places. My mother thought you might like to go."

"With the Wrays? No, thank you. I never seem to get on with them; and if Colonel Ormonde happens to be there (and he might, for he is in town to-day), I should not care to be seen with them; they are not at all in society, you know."

"True," said Katherine, with perfect equanimity. "Then, dear mother, do come. Nothing takes you out of yourself so much as a good play. I shall enjoy it more if you are with us."

After a little discussion Mrs. Liddell agreed to go, and Mrs. Frederic retired to unpack, and to see what repairs were necessary, in a somewhat sulky mood.

The following morning Mrs. Liddell's head was aching so severely that her daughter would not allow her to get up. She therefore gave her sister-in-law an early luncheon, and saw her set forth on her visit to Mr. Newton. She was a little nervous about it; she wished Katherine to go with her, and yet she did not wish it.

She attired herself completely in black, and managed to give a mournful "distressed widow" aspect to her toilette: the little woman was an artist in her way, so long as her subject was self and its advantages. Then Katherine devoted herself to her mother, who had taken a chill. It grieved her to see how the slightest indisposition preyed upon her strength.

The period of waiting was terribly long and wearing. Had she, after all, committed herself to an ever-gnawing loss of self-respect to enrich another? Katherine asked herself this question more than once.

She had refrained from troubling Mr. Newton with fruitless questions or impatient expressions, and her mother admired her forbearance. But in truth Catherine hated to approach the subject of her possible inheritance, though she never faltered in her purpose of keeping the existence of her uncle's will a profound secret.

Mrs. Frederic Liddell returned from her visit to the friendly lawyer rather sooner than Katherine expected.

The moment she entered the drawing-room, where the latter was dusting the few china and other ornaments, her countenance evinced unusual disturbance.

"I am sure," she began, in a very high key, "if I had known what I was going to encounter, I should have stayed at home. There's no justice in this world for the widow and the fatherless."

"I cannot believe that Mr. Newton could be rude or unkind!" exclaimed Katherine, much startled.

"I do not say he was," returned Mrs. Fred, snappishly. "But either he is a stupid old idiot, or he has been telling me abominable stories. I don't—I can't believe them! Do you know he says he, they, all the old rogues together, believe that wretched miser had destroyed his will and died intestate, and that every penny will be yours; not a sou comes to the widow and children of the nephew. It is preposterous. It is the most monstrous injustice. If it is law, an act of Parliament ought to be passed to—to do away with it. Fancy your having everything, and me, my boys and myself, dependent on you!"—scornful emphasis on "you."

"Is this possible?" exclaimed Katherine, dropping her duster in dismay. "I thought that the property would be divided between the boys and myself."

"Why, that is only common-sense! If you do get everything you will be well rewarded for your three months' penal servitude. You knew what you were about, though you do despise rank and riches."

"But, Ada, I suppose my uncle would have destroyed his will whether I had been there or not."

"No. Mr. Newton's idea is that he intended to make a new will, probably leaving you a large sum, and so destroyed the old one. Mr. Newton thinks he grew to like you. Oh! you played your cards well! But it is too hard to think you cut out my dar-arling boys," she ended, with a sob.

Katherine grew very white; this outburst of fury roused her conscience. She pulled herself together in an instant of quick thought, however. "This is folly. What I have done will benefit the boys more than myself," she reflected.

"I do not wonder at your being vexed, Ada," she said, gently. "But fortunately one is not compelled to act according to law. If the whole of the fortune, whatever it may be, becomes mine, do you think I would keep it all to myself?"

"I am sure I don't know" said Mrs. Frederic, who had now subsided into the sulks. "When people get hold of money they seldom like to part with it; and I know you do not like me?"

"Why should you think so, Ada? We may not agree in our tastes, but that is no reason for dislike; and you know how glad I am to be of use to you, both for your own sake and poor Fred's."

"Well, I would rather not be dependent on you or any one. But there! I do not believe what that stupid old man says—I do not believe such a horrible law exists. I shall write and consult Colonel Ormonde, and find out if I could not dispute the will—no, not the will—the property. I should not like to give up my rights."

"Please, Ada, do not speak so loudly. My mother had just fallen asleep before you came in; and she had such a bad night!"

"Loud? I am not talking loudly. You mean to insinuate I am in a passion? I am nothing of the kind. I am perfectly cool, but determined—determined to have justice, and my fair share of this man's wealth!"

"It may not be wealth; it may be only competence, and it is not ours to share yet."

"Not yours, you mean; that is what you thought, Katherine. And as to wealth, I believe that cruel old miser was enormously rich! Where are the boys?"

"Out walking with Lottie. I am so glad they were not in to hear all this! Do not talk to them of being rich, dear Ada; it puts unhealthy ideas into their minds, and—"

"Upon my word! I like to hear you, a mere girl, not quite nineteen yet, advising me, a mother, a married woman, about my own children. You need not presume on your expected riches. I'll never play the part of a poor relation, and submit to be lectured by you."

Her sister-in-law's stings and passing fits of ill-humor never irritated Katherine unless they worried her mother, nor did this most unwonted outburst of irrepressible indignation, but it distressed her. "Come, Ada, don't be cross," she said. "It was perhaps want of tact in me to suggest anything, though my idea is right enough. It is quite natural that you should be awfully vexed. Perhaps Mr. Newton is wrong; at all events, if the law is unjust, I need not act unjustly, and believe me, I will not."

"I hope not," returned the young widow, a little mollified. "I always believe you haven't a bad heart, Katherine, though you have a disagreeble sullen temper. Now I am too open; you see the worst of me at once; but I do not remember unkindness; and if you do what is right in this, I—I shall always speak of you as you deserve. Do get me something to eat; I am awfully hungry, and though I hate beer, I will take some; it is better than nothing. How you go on on water I cannot imagine; it will ruin your digestion."

So they went amicably enough into the dining-room together, one to be ministered to, the other to minister.

Here the boys joined them; but for a wonder their mother was silent respecting her visit to the lawyer, and soon went away to write to Colonel Ormonde, on whom she had conferred, unasked, the office of prime counsellor and referee. This opened up a splendid field for letters full of flattering appeals to his wisdom and judgment, and touching little confessions of her own weakness, folly, and need for guidance.

"DEAR MISS LIDDELL,—I should be glad if you could call on Tuesday next about one o'clock. I have various documents to show you, or I should not give you the trouble to come here. If Mrs. Liddell is disengaged and could come also it would be well. I am yours faithfully, A. NEWTON."

Such was the letter which the first post brought to Katherine about six weeks after the death of John Liddell.

Katherine, who always rose and dressed first, found it on the table when she went down to give the boys their breakfast, to coax the fire to burn brightly if it was inclined to be sulky, and to make the coffee for her mother and Mrs. Fred.

As soon as she had seen the two little men at work on their bread and milk she flew back to her mother.

"Do read this! Do you think that Mr. Newton wants me because I am to have my uncle's money at last?"

"Yes, I do. There can be no other reason for his wishing to see you, dearest child. What a wonderful change it will make if this is the case! I can then cease, to mourn the failure of my poor powers, and let the publishers go free. My love, I did not think anything could affect you so much. You are white and trembling."