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There were indeed long and heavy days for Katherine, few though they were, before Mr. Newton thought it well to communicate the intelligence to Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde. He wished to be able to extract some more favorable terms from Liddell, so that his favorite client might fulfil her ardent desire to keep her nephews still with her, and assist in their maintenance and education. This was, in the shrewd old lawyer's estimation, a most Quixotic project, but he saw it was the only idea which enabled her to bear the extreme distress caused by the prospect of returning the poor children on their mother's hands.
A period of uncertainty is always trying, and the reflection that the present crisis was the result of her unfortunate infringement of the unalterable law of right and wrong overwhelmed her with a sense of guilt. Had she not meddled with the matter, no doubt such a man as Errington would, were the case properly represented to him, have given some portion of the wealth bequeathed him to the family of the testator. But how could she have foreseen? True; but she might have resisted the temptation to deviate from the straight path. "She might!" What an abyss of endless regret yawns at the sound of those words, used in the sense of too late!
This was a hard worldly trouble over which she could not weep. Over and over again she told herself that nothing should part her from the boys, that she would devote her life to repair as far as possible the injury she had done them. And Ada, would she also suffer for her (Katherine's) sins? But while brooding constantly on these miserable thoughts she kept a brave front, quiet and steady, though Miss Payne saw that her composure hid a good deal of suffering.
It was more, however, than Katherine's resolution could accomplish to keep a few evening engagements which she had made. "I should feel too great an impostor," she said. "How thankful I shall be when the murder is out and the nine days' wonder over! Have you any commissions, dear Miss Payne? I want an object to take me out, and I feel I must not mope in-doors."
"No, I cannot say I have any shopping to do, and I am obliged to go into the City myself. Take a steady round of Kensington Gardens; it is quite mild and bright to-day. I shall not return till six, I am afraid."
So Katherine went out alone immediately after luncheon, before the world and his wife had time to get abroad. She had made a circuit of the ornamental water, and was returning by the footpath near the sunk fence which separates the Gardens from the Park, when she recognized De Burgh coming toward her. He had been in her thoughts at the moment; for, feeling that it was quite likely he had been considered a suitor, she was anxious to give him an opportunity of making an honorable retreat before society found out that the sceptre of wealth had slipped from her hand.
"Pray is this the way you cure a cold?" he asked, abruptly. "Last night Lady Mary Vincent informed me that you had staid at home to nurse a cold. This morning I call to enquire for the interesting invalid, and find she is out in the cool February air."
"It is very mild, and it is at night the air is dangerous," returned Katherine, smiling.
"Now I look at you, I don't think you look so blooming as usual. May I go back with you and pay my visit of condolence, in spite of having left my card?"
"Yes," said Katherine, with sudden decision. "I want to speak to you."
"Indeed!"—with a keen, eager look. "This is something new. May I ask—"
"No; not until we are in Miss Payne's drawing-room."
"You alarm me. Could it be possible that you, peerless as you are, have got into a scrape?"
"Well, I think I can say I have," said Katherine, smiling.
"Great heavens! this is delightful."
"Let us talk of something else."
"By all means. Will you hear some gossip? I don't often retail any, but I fancy you'll be amused and interested to know that Lady Alice Mordaunt is really going to marry that brewer fellow. You remember I told you what I thought was going on last autumn."
"Is it possible?" cried Katherine. "Imagine her so soon forgetting Mr. Errington!"
"And why should not that immaculate individual be exempt from the usual fate of man?"
"I don't know—except that he is not an ordinary man."
"No; certainly not. He is an extraordinary fellow; but I must say he has shown great staying power in his late difficulties. They tell me he has been revenging himself by writing awful problems, political and critical, which require a forty-horse intellectual power to understand." And De Burgh talked on, seeing that his companion was disinclined to speak until they reached Miss Payne's house.
Katherine took off her hat and warm cloak with some deliberation, thinking how best to approach her subject. Pushing back her hair, which had become somewhat disordered from its own weight, she sat down on an ottoman, and raising her eyes to De Burgh, who stood on the hearth-rug, said, slowly, "I have a secret to tell you which you must keep for a few weeks."
"For an eternity, if you will trust me," he returned, in low, earnest tones, his dark eyes fixed upon her, as if trying to read her heart.
"Well, then, my uncle's son and heir, whom we believed to be dead, has suddenly reappeared, and of course takes the fortune I have been, let us say , enjoying."
De Burgh did not reply at once; his eyes continued to search her face as if to discover some hidden meaning.
"Do you mean me to take you seriously, Miss Liddell?"
"Quite. Moreover, I fear my cousin means to demand the arrears of income—income which I have spent."
"But the fellow must be an impostor. Your man of business, Newton, will never yield to his demands. He must prove his case."
"I think he has proved it. Mr. Newton recognized him at the first glance; and he bears a strong resemblance to his father. I feel he is the man he asserts himself to be."
"Do you intend to give up without a struggle? What account does this intruder give of himself?"
Katherine gave him a brief sketch of the story, speaking with firmness and composure.
"What an infernal shame!" cried De Burgh, when she ceased speaking. "I wish I had had a chance of sending a bullet through his head, and as sure as there is a devil down below I'd have verified the report of his death! Why, what is to be done?"
"I still faintly hope Mr. Newton may persuade him to forego his first demand for the restoration of those moneys I have spent. If so, I am not quite penniless, and can hope to— At all events, I thought it but right to give you early information, as—"
"Why?" interrupted De Burgh (for she hesitated), throwing himself on the ottoman and leaning against the arm which divided the seats, till his long dark mustaches nearly touched the coils of her hair. "Why?" he repeated, as she did not answer immediately. "I know well enough. It is your loyalty that makes you wish to open a way of escape to the friend who is credited with seeking your fortune. I see it all."
"You can assign any motive you like, Mr. De Burgh, but I thought—I wished—I believed it better to let you know; for I shall always consider you my friend, even if we do not meet," said Katherine, a good deal unhinged by the excitement and distress he displayed.
"Meet? why, of course we shall meet! Do you think anything in heaven or earth would make me give up the attempt, hopeless as it may seem, to win you? I know you don't care a rap for me now, but I cannot, dare not despair. I've too much at stake. There is the awful sting of this misfortune. Even if you, by some blessed intervention of Providence, were ready to marry me, I don't see how I could drag you into such a sea of trouble. Besides, there's old De Burgh; he must be kept in good-humor. By Heaven! this miserable want of money is the most utter degradation—irresistible, enslaving. I feel like a beaten cur. I am tied hand and foot. Had I not been such a reckless idiot, why, your misfortunes might have been my best chance. I dare say that sounds shabby enough, but I like to let you see what I am, good and bad; besides, I am ready to do anything , right or wrong, to win you."
"Ah, Mr. De Burgh, no crookedness ever succeeds. And then I do not deserve that you should think so much or care so much for me, for I do not wish to marry you or any one. My plan of life is framed on quite different lines. Do put me out of your mind, and think of your own fortunes. Do not vex Lord De Burgh; but oh! pray give up racing and gambling. You know I really do like you, not exactly in the way you wish, but it adds greatly to my troubles (for I am very sorry to lose my fortune, I assure you) to see you so—so disturbed."
"If you look at me so kindly with those sweet wet eyes I shall lose my head," cried De Burgh, who was already beside himself, for the gulf which had suddenly yawned between him and the woman he coveted seemed to grow wider as he looked at it. "I am the most unlucky devil in existence, and I have brought you ill luck. I should have kept away from you, for you are a hundred thousand times too good for me; but as I have thrown myself headlong into the delicious pain of loving you, won't you give me a chance? Promise to wait for me: a week, a day, may see me wealthy, and I swear I will strive to be worthy too: why were those bush-rangers such infernally bad-shots?—and I can be no use to you whatever?"
"But I have many kind friends, Mr. De Burgh. You must not distress yourself about me. I am not frightened, I assure you. Now I have told you everything, don't you think you would better go?" She rose as she spoke, and held out her hand.
"Better for you, yes, but not for me. Look here, Katherine, don't banish me. I am obliged to go with old De Burgh to Paris. He is making for Cannes again, and asked me to come so far. Of course he has a chain round my neck. I must obey orders like his bond-slave, but when I come back—don't banish me. I swear I'll be an unobtrusive friend, and I may be of use. Don't send me quite away; in short, I won't take a dismissal. What is it you object to? What absurd stories have been told you to set you against me? Other women have liked me well enough."
"I have no doubt you deserve to be loved, Mr. De Burgh, but there are feelings that, like the wind, blow where they list; we cannot tell whence they come or whither they go. I am sorry I do not love you, but—I am very tired. If you care to come and see me when you come back, come if I have any place in which to receive you."
"If I write, will you answer my letters?"
"Oh no; don't write; I would rather you did not."
"I am a brute to keep you when you look so white; I'll go. Good-by for the present—only for the present, you dear, sweet woman!" He kissed her hand twice and went quickly out of the room.
Katherine heaved a sigh of relief. The degree of liking she had for De Burgh made her feel greatly distressed at having been obliged to give him pain. Yet she was not by any means disposed to trust him; his restless eagerness to gratify every whim and desire as it came to him, the kind of harshness which made him so indifferent to the feelings and opinions of those who opposed him—this was very repellent to Katherine's more considerate and sympathetic nature. Besides, and above all, De Burgh was not Errington; and it needs no more to explain why the former, who had no reason hitherto to complain of the coldness of women, found the only one he had ever loved with a high order of affection untouched by his wooing.
The day after this interview Katherine, accompanied by Miss Payne, went down to Sandbourne to interview the principal of the boys' school, to explain the state of affairs, to give notice that she should be obliged to remove them, and to pay in advance for the time they were to remain.
The visit was full of both pain and pleasure. The genuine delight of the children on seeing her unexpectedly, their joy at being permitted to go out to walk with her, their innocent talk, and the castles in the air which they erected in the firm conviction that they were to have horses and dogs, man-servants and maid-servants, all the days of their lives, touched her heart. The principal gave a good account of both. Cecil was, he said, erratic and excitable in no common degree, but though troublesome, he was truthful and straightforward, while Charlie promised to develop qualities of no common order. He entered with a very friendly spirit into the anxiety of the young aunt, whose motherly tenderness for her nephews touched him greatly. He gave her some valuable advice, and the address of two schools regulated to suit parents of small means, and which he could safely recommend. By his suggestion nothing was said for the present to Cis or Charlie regarding the impending change, lest they should be unsettled.
"And shall we come to stay at Miss Payne's for the Easter holidays?" cried the boys in chorus, as Katherine took leave of them the next day.
"I hope so, dears, but I am not sure."
"Then will you come down to Sandbourne? That would be jolly."
"I cannot promise, Cecil. We will see."
"But, auntie, we'll not have to go to Castleford?"
"Why? Would you not like to go?"
"No. Would you, Charlie? I don't like being there nearly so much as at school. I don't like having dinner by ourselves, and yet I don't care to dine with Colonel Ormonde; he is always in a wax."
"He does not mean to be cross," said Katherine, her heart sinking within her. Should she be obliged to hand over the poor little helpless fellows to the reluctant guardianship of their irritable step-father? This would indeed be a pang. Was it for this she had broken the law, and marred the harmony of her own moral nature?
"Well, my own dear, I will do the best I can for you, you may be quite sure. Now you must let me go; I will come again as soon as I can." Cis kissed her heartily, and scampered away to take his place in the class-room, quite content with his school life. Charlie threw his arms around his auntie's neck, and clung to her lovingly. But he too was called away, and nothing remained for Katherine and her companion but to make their way to the station and return to town.
This visit cost Katherine more than any other outcome of George Liddell's reappearance. Her quick imagination depicted what the boys' lives would be under the jurisdiction of their mother and her husband—the worries, the suppression, the sense of being always naughty and in the wrong, the different yet equally pernicious effect such treatment would have on the brothers.
"This is the worst part of the business to you," said Miss Payne, when they had reached home and sat down to a late tea together. "You look like a ghost, or as if you had seen one. You will make yourself ill, and really there is no need to do anything of the kind. Those children have a mother who is very well off. I always thought it frightfully imprudent of you to take those boys even when you had plenty of money. Now, of course, when it is impossible for you to keep them, it is a bitter wrench to part, but—"
"But I am not sure that we must part," interrupted Katherine, eagerly. "Should my cousin be induced to forego his claims upon me for the income I have expended, and I can find some means of maintaining myself, I could still provide for their school expenses and keep them with me."
"Maintain yourself, my dear Katherine; it is easier said than done. You are quite infatuated about those nephews of yours, and I dare say they will give you small thanks."
"I know it is not easy for an untrained woman like myself to find remunerative work, but I shall try. Here is a note from Mr. Newton asking me to call on him to-morrow. Let us hope he will have some good news, though I cannot help fearing he would have told me in this if he had."
It was with a sickening sensation of uneasy hope shot with dark streaks of fear that Katherine started to keep her appointment with Mr. Newton. Eager to begin her economy at once, Katherine took an omnibus instead of indulging in a brougham or a cab. She could not help smiling at her own sense of helpless discomfort when a fat woman almost sat down upon her, and the conductor told her to look sharp when the vehicle stopped to let her alight; as she reflected that barely three years ago she considered an omnibus rather a luxury, and that it was a matter of careful calculation how many pennies might be saved by walking to certain points whence one could travel at a reduced fare. How easily are luxurious and self-indulgent habits formed! Well, she had done with them forever now; nor would anything seem a hardship were she but permitted to repair in some measure the evil she had wrought.
She found Mr. Newton awaiting her with evident impatience. "Well, my dear Miss Liddell," he said, "I have been most anxious to see you, though I have not much that is cheering to communicate. I have had several interviews with your cousin, but he seems still unaccountably hard and vindictive. However, as I am, of course, your adviser, he has been obliged to seek another solicitor, and I am happy to say he has fallen into good hands, and that by a sort of lucky chance."
"How?" asked Katherine, who was looking pale and feeling in the depths.
"Well, a few days ago a gentleman called here to ask me for the address of a former client of whom I have heard nothing for years. I think you know or have met this gentleman—Mr. Errington."
"I do," cried Katherine, now all attention.
"While we were speaking Mr. Liddell was announced. Errington looked at him hard, and then asked politely if he were the son of the late Mr. John Liddell, who had been a great friend of his (Errington's) father. Your cousin seemed to know the name, and, moreover, very pleased at being spoken to and remembered. Mr. Errington offered to call, and now I find he has recommended his own solicitors, Messrs. Compton & Barnes, to George Liddell. I had an interview with the head of the firm yesterday, and he has evidently advised that the strictly legal claims against you should not be pressed. I cannot help thinking that Mr. Errington has interested himself on your side."
"Indeed!" cried Katherine, life and warmth coming back to her heart at his words.
"Yes, I do. Compton appears to have the highest possible opinion of Errington as a man of integrity and intelligence. He, Compton says, believes that if Liddell could be persuaded such a line of conduct toward you would injure him socially, he would not seek to enforce his rights, for he is evidently anxious to make a position in the respectable world. As you make no opposition to his claims he ought to show you consideration. This accidental encounter between Errington and your cousin will, I am sure, prove a fortunate circumstance."
In her own mind Katherine could not help doubting its accidental character. How infinitely good and forgiving Errington was! While she thought, Mr. Newton mused.
"I suppose you have a tolerable balance at the bank?" he said, abruptly.
"Yes. I have never spent a year's income in a year. Just lately, except for buying that house, I have spent very little."
"That house! Oh—ah! I shall be curious to see how Miss Trant will behave. If she is true to her word; if she looks upon your loan to her as a loan—an investment on your side—you may gain an addition to your income through what was an act of pure benevolence. When you go home, my dear young lady, look at your bank-book, and let me know exactly how you stand. We might offer this cormorant of a cousin a portion of your savings to finish the business. Indeed I should advise you to draw a good large check at once so as to provide yourself with ready money."
"Would it be quite—quite honest to do so?" asked Katherine, anxiously.
"Pray do you impugn my integrity?"
"No! But suppose George Liddell found I had drawn a large check—perhaps the very day before I propose through you to hand over what remains to me—he would think me a cheat?"
"And pray why should he know anything about your bank-book? or what consideration do you owe him? He is behaving very harshly and badly to you. We will state what is in the bank after you have drawn your check, and offer him half—which is a great deal too much for him. Yet I should like him to be your friend, if possible. Could you get hold of that little girl of his? Affection for her seems to be the only human thing about him."
"I think I should rather have nothing to do with him," murmured Katherine.
"Well, well, we will see. Now, though we have not succeeded in coming to any settlement with Liddell, I believe we ought not to leave Mrs. Ormonde any longer in ignorance respecting the change which has taken place."
"No, I am sure they ought to know. I have been troubling myself about both the Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde," said Katherine. "This is what I dread most." And she sighed.
"I do not see why you need. I am sure you acted with noble liberality to Mrs. Ormonde and her boys when you thought you were the rightful owner of the property."
"The rightful owner," repeated Katherine, with a thrill of pain. "It has been an unfortunate ownership to me."
"It has—it has indeed, my dear young lady, but we must see how to help you at this juncture. If Miss Trant behaves as she ought, we must put a little more capital in that concern if it is as thriving as you believe. It may turn out very useful to you."
"I have not seen her since my cousin came to life again, for I could not see her and keep back my strange story. May I tell her now?"
"Certainly. It was from Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde I wished to keep back the disastrous news till some agreement should be come to."
"You must not call my cousin's return to life and country disastrous," said Katherine, smiling. "I am sure, if he will only give me the chance of keeping my boys with me, I am quite ready to welcome him to both. Now I shall leave you, for I want to send away my letter to Ada this evening, and it is a difficult letter to write."
"I have no doubt you will state your case clearly and well," returned Mr. Newton, rising to shake hands with her. "Let me hear what Mrs. Ormonde says in reply; and see your protegee, Miss Trant. I am anxious to learn her views."
"I am quite sure I know what they will be," said Katherine.
"Don't be too sure. Human nature is a very crooked thing—more crooked than a true heart like yours can imagine," continued the old man, holding her hand kindly.
"Ah, Mr. Newton," she cried, with an irresistible outburst of penitence, "you little know what crooked things I can imagine."
"Can't I?" he said laughing at what he fancied was her little joke, and glad to see her bearing her troubles so lightly. "You'll come all right yet, my dear; you have the right spirit. Is your carriage waiting?"
"Not here; but in Holborn I have several at my command," she returned. "Good-by; no, you must not come downstairs; it is damp and chilly."
On reaching her home, the home she must so soon resign, Katherine sent a note to Rachel Trant asking if she had a spare hour that evening, as she, Katherine, had something to tell her, and preferred going to her house. Then she sat down to write a full and detailed account of what had taken place to her sister-in-law. It was dusk before she had finished and she herself felt considerably exhausted. Miss Payne had gone out to dine with one of her former girls, now the wife of a rackety horsy man, whose conduct made her often look back with a sigh of regret to the tranquil days passed under the guardianship of the prudent spinster; so having partaken of tea at their usual dinner-time she sat and mused awhile on the one subject from which she could derive comfort—Errington and his wonderful kindness to her. If he took the matter in hand she thought herself safe. Her confidence in him was unbounded. Ah! why had she placed such a gulf between them? How she had destroyed her own life! There was but one tie between her and the world, little Charlie and Cis, and perhaps she had been their greatest enemy. She almost wished she could love De Burgh. He was undoubtedly in earnest; he interested her; he—But no. Between her and any possible husband she had reared the insurmountable barrier of a secret not to be shared by any save one, from whom, somehow, instead of dividing her, had bound her indissolubly; at least she felt it to be so.
It was near the hour she had fixed to call on Rachel, so she roused herself, and asking the amiable Francois to accompany her, started for Malden Street.
Rachel Trant had made a back parlor, designated the "trying-on" room, bright and cosy, with a shaded lamp, a red fire, a couple of easy-chairs at either side of it, and a gay cloth over the small round table erst strewn with fashion books, measuring tapes, pins, patterns and pin-cushions.
"How very good of you to come to me!" cried Miss Trant, hastening to divest her friend of bonnet and cloak. "I am very curious to hear the story you have to tell." Then, as Katherine sat down where the lamp-light fell upon her face, she added, "But you are not looking well, Miss Liddell; your eyes look heavy; your mouth is sad."
"I am troubled, more than sad," said Katherine; "the why and wherefore I have come to tell you."
"Yes; tell me everything." And Rachel took a low seat opposite her guest; her usually pale face was slightly flushed, her large blue eyes darkened with the pleasure of seeing the friend she loved so warmly and the interest with which she awaited her disclosure, and as Katherine looked at her she realized how pretty and attractive she must have been before the fresh grace of her girlhood had been withered by the cruel fires of passion and despair. "I am listening," said Rachel, gently, to recall her visitor, whose thoughts were evidently far away.
"Yes; I had forgotten." And Katherine began her story.
Rachel Trant listened with rapt, intense attention, nor did she interrupt the narrative by a single question.
When Katherine ceased to speak she remained silent for a second or two longer: then she asked, "Are you convinced of the truth of this man's story?"
"I am, for Mr. Newton does not seem to have a doubt. Oh! he is my uncle John's only son—only child, indeed—and he is like him. I always fancied from the little my uncle said about George that he was naturally kind and sympathetic, but he has had a hard life, and it has made him hard. The loss of his mother was a terrible misfortune."
"Was he young when she died?"
"He was about fourteen, I think; but he lost her by a worse misfortune than death. She was driven away by my uncle's severity and harshness; she left him for another."
"What! left her son?"
"Yes—it seems incredible—nor does my cousin resent her desertion. On the contrary, all the affection and softness in him appears to centre round his daughter and the memory of his mother."
"Then," said Rachel, "if this man persists in demanding his rights, you will be beggared, and those dear boys must go back to their mother. They will not be too welcome."
"Oh no! no! I feel that only too keenly."
"But you will not be penniless nor homeless," cried Rachel. "He cannot touch this house. You made it over to me, and I will use it for you. There are two nice rooms I can arrange for you upstairs. I am doing well, and if I had but a little more capital, I should not fear; I should not doubt making a great success. My dear, dearest Miss Liddell, I may be of use to you, after all. Tell me, is this Mr. Newton truly interested in you—anxious to help you?"
"I am sure he is; he is very unhappy about me."
"Do you think he would let me call on him? I want to tell him the plans that are coming into my head. I can explain all the business part to him. If I can get through this year without debt, I am pretty sure of providing you with an income—an increasing income. This is a joy I never anticipated. And then you can keep your little nephews, and be a real mother to them. I don't want to trouble you with the business details of my plan; you would not understand them. But Mr. Newton will. Pray write a line asking him to see me, to name his own time. Stay; here are paper and pen and ink; ask him to write to me. He knows—he knows my story. At least—" She stopped, coloring crimson.
"He knows all it is needful for me to tell," said Katherine, gravely. "Yes, Rachel, it is better to explain all to him. He is kind and wise, and I am strangely stupefied by this extraordinary overturn of my fortunes. I shall be glad of your help, but do not neglect your own future, dear Rachel."
"I shall not: I shall make enough for us both. You have indeed given me something to live for."