"Mustn't I? How shall you prevent me? I am a relative, you know. You can't treat me as a stranger."

"You are quite too audacious--" she was beginning, when a slim young cornet came back from the billiard-room.

"The Colonel wants you, Mrs. Ormonde," he said; "and you too, De Burgh.

We are not enough for pool, and you play a capital game, Mrs. Ormonde."

"What are the stakes?" asked De Burgh, rising readily enough.

"Oh, I can't play well at all," said Mrs. Ormonde, following him with evident reluctance. "Certainly not when Colonel Ormonde is looking on."

"Oh, never mind him. I'll screen you from his hypercritical eyes,"

returned De Burgh, as he held the door open for her to pa.s.s out.

So it was, after a spell of heavenly tranquility, as Katherine and her mother were on their way to England, intending to make a home in or near London, Mrs. Liddell had been struck down with fever, and Katherine was left unspeakably desolate. Then she turned to her old friend Mr. Newton, and found him of infinite use and comfort.

A short s.p.a.ce of numb inaction followed, during which she fully realized the loneliness of her position, and from which she roused herself to plan her future.

At the time Mrs. Liddell was first attacked with fever they had just renewed their acquaintance with a Miss Payne, whom they had met in Rome and at Berlin. She was not unknown in society, for she came of a good old county family, and was half-sister of the Bertie whose name has already appeared in these pages.

Their father, with an old man's pride in a handsome only son, had left the bulk of his fortune to Bertie, while Hannah, who had ministered to his comfort and borne his ill-humor, inherited only a paltry couple of hundred a year, with a fairly well furnished house in Wilton Street, Hyde Park. Her brother would have willingly added to this pittance, but she sternly refused to accept what did not of right belong to her.

Bertie went with his regiment to India, whence he returned a wiser, a poorer, and a physically weaker man.

His sister, whose business instincts were much too strong to permit her wrapping up such a "talent" as a freehold house in the napkin of unfruitful occupation, looked round to see how she could best turn it to account. Accident threw in her way a girl of large fortune with no relations, whose guardians, thankful to find a respectable home for her, readily agreed to pay Miss Payne handsomely for taking charge of the orphan. Her first _protegee_ married well, under her auspices, and from henceforth her house was rarely empty. Sometimes she accepted a roving commission and travelled with her charge, meanwhile letting her house in town, so making a double profit. It was on one of these expeditions that she was introduced to Mrs. and Miss Liddell. There was an air of sincerity and common-sense about the composed elderly gentlewoman which rather attracted the former, and, when they met again in Paris, Miss Payne came to Katie in her trouble and proved a brave and capable nurse; nor was she unsympathetic, though far from effusive. So, finding that Miss Payne's last young lady had left her, Katherine, with the approval of Mr. Newton, proposed to become her inmate for a year--an arrangement entirely in accordance with Miss Payne's wishes.

"I did not know you were acquainted with Miss Liddell," she said one evening when she was sitting with her brother, Katherine having retired early, as she often did. "It is quite a surprise to me."

"I can hardly say I am acquainted with her; I happened to be of some slight use to her once, and I met her after by accident, when we spoke; that is all."

"I wonder she did not mention it to me."

"I imagine she hardly knew my name." Miss Payne uttered an inarticulate sound between a h'm and a groan, by which she generally expressed indefinite dissent and disapprobation. Then she rose and walked to the dwarf bookcase at the end of the room to fetch her tatting. She was tall and slight. Following her, you might imagine her young, for her figure was good and her step brisk. Meeting her face to face, her pale, slightly puckered cheeks, closely compressed lips, keen light eyes, and crisp pepper-and-salt hair--Cayenne pepper, for it had once been red--suggested at least twenty or twenty-five additional years as compared with the back view.

Returning to her seat, she began to tat, slowing drawing each knot home with a reflective air.

"That woman is hunting her up," she exclaimed suddenly, after a few minutes' silence, during which Bertie looked thoughtfully at the fire--his quiet face, with its look of unutterable peace, the strongest possible contrast to his sister's hard, shrewd aspect.

"What woman?" asked, as if recalled from a dream.

"Mrs. Ormonde. There was a telegram from her this afternoon. She has been worrying Miss Liddell to go to them ever since she set foot in England; and as that won't do, she is coming up to-morrow to see what personal persuasion will do."

"I dare say Mrs. Ormonde is fond of her sister-in-law. She is too well off to have any mercenary designs."

"Is that all your experience has taught you?" (contemptuously). "If there is any truth in hand-writing, that Mrs. Ormonde is a fool. Her letter after Mrs. Liddell's death, which Katherine showed me because it touched her, was the production of an effusive idiot. I don't trust sentimentalists; they seldom have much honesty or justice. Katherine Liddell is a little soft too, but she is by no means so asinine as the others I have had. Wait, however--wait till some man takes her fancy; that is the divining-rod to show where the springs of folly lie."

"Miss Liddell is a good deal changed," returned Bertie, slowly. "She looks considerably older. No, that is not the right expression: I mean she seems more mature than when I saw her before. What she says is said deliberately; what she does is with the full consciousness of what she is doing; but she looks as if she had suffered."

"She has," said Miss Payne, with an air of conviction. "Her grief for her mother was, is, deep and real. I don't believe in floods of tears--they are a relief."

"Yes; and though she looks so pale and sad, she is not a whit less beautiful than she was."

"Beautiful!" repeated Miss Payne. "I rather admire her myself, but I don't think any one could call her beautiful."

"Perhaps not. There is so much expression in her face, such feeling in her eyes, that not many really beautiful women would stand comparison with her."

Miss Payne sniffed, and then she smiled. "She is not a commonplace young woman, though I fear she is easily imposed upon. I am afraid she may be snapped up by some plausible fortune-hunter."

Bertie frowned slightly. "I trust she may be guided to happiness with some good, G.o.d-fearing man," he said, and then, he bid his sister good-night somewhat abruptly.

Meantime, Katherine sat plunged in thought beside the fire in her bedroom. She was not given to weeping, but she was profoundly sad. To find herself again in London without her mother seemed to renew the intense grief which had indeed lost but little of its keenness. Never had a mother been more terribly missed. They had been such sympathetic friends, such close companions; they had had such a hearty respect for and appreciation of each other's qualities, such a pleasant comprehension of each other's different tastes, that it would be hard to fill the place of the dear, lost comrade with whom she had hitherto walked hand in hand. It soothed her to think of the delightful tranquility Mrs. Liddell had enjoyed for the last two years, of the untroubled sweetness of their intercourse, of her mother's last contented words: "I am quite happy, dear. Your future is secure, and you have never given me a moment's pain. We have had such delightful days together!"

How could she have borne to have seen a pained, anxious look--such a look as was once familiar to them--in those dear eyes, as they closed forever on this mortal scene! Oh, thank G.o.d for the heavenly security of those last days whatever the price she had paid for them!

Motherless, she was utterly desolate. It would be long, long before she could find any one to fill her mother's place, if she ever did. For the present she was satisfied to stay with Miss Payne, but she did not think she could ever love her. The idea of residing with Colonel Ormonde and his wife was distasteful. The most attractive scheme was to beg her little nephews from their mother, and take them to live with her. She was almost of age, and _felt_ old enough to set up for herself. As she pondered on these things she felt bitterly that, rich or poor, a homeless woman is a wretched creature.

At last she went to bed, and lay for a while watching the fire-light as it cast flickering shadows, thinking of the tender, watchful love which had dropped away out of her life; and with the murmured words, "Dear, dear mother!" on her lips she fell asleep.

The next day broke bright and clear, though cold, and having kept Katherine at home all day, Mrs. Ormonde made her appearance in time for afternoon tea.

"My dear, dearest Katherine!" cried the little woman, fluttering in, all fur and feathers, in the richest and most becoming morning toilette, looking prettier and younger than ever, "I am _so_ delighted to see you once more! Why have you staid in town, instead of coming straight to us?" and she embraced her tall sister-in-law effusively.

Katherine returned her embrace. For a moment or two she could not command her voice; the sight of the known childish face, the sound of the shrill familiar voice, brought a flood of sudden sorrow over her heart; but Mrs. Ormonde was not the sort of woman to whom she could express it.

"And _I_ am very glad to see _you_, Ada! How well you are looking--even younger and fairer than you used!"

"Yes, I am uncommonly well; and you, dear, you are looking pale and ill and older! You will forgive me, but I am quite distressed. You must come down to Castleford at once."

"Thank you. Where are the boys? I hoped you would bring them."

"Oh, Colonel Ormonde thought they would be too troublesome for me in a hotel, so I left them behind. They were awfully disappointed, poor dears; but it is better _you_ should come down and see them. Cecil is going to school after Easter, and I believe Charlie must go soon."

"I long to see them," said Katherine, a.s.sisting her visitor to take off her cloak.

"And _I_ long to show you my new little boy," cried Mrs. Ormonde, drawing a chair to the fire, and putting her small, daintily shod feet on the fender. "He is a splendid child, amazingly forward for six months."

"I am glad you are so happy, Ada; I shall be pleased to make the acquaintance of my new nephew. I suppose I may consider him a sort of nephew?"

"My dear, of _course_! Colonel Ormonde, as well as myself, is proud to consider you his aunt. Yes, I am very happy--though Ormonde _is_ rather provoking sometimes; still, he is not half bad, and I know how to manage him. You are _such_ a favorite with my husband, Katie. He admires you so much, I sometimes threaten to be jealous--why, what is the matter, dear?"

Katherine had suddenly covered her face with her handkerchief and burst into tears.

"Do not mind me, Ada!" she said, when she could speak. "It was just that name; no one has called me Katie except my mother and you, and the idea that I should never hear her speak again overpowered me for a moment."

Mrs. Ormonde was puzzled. Not knowing what to do in face of a great grief, she took out her own pocket-handkerchief politely.

"Of course, dear," she said; "it is quite natural. I was awfully cut up when I heard of your sad loss--and mine too, for I am sure Mrs. Liddell loved me like her own child; it was quite wonderful for a mother-in-law.

I was afraid to speak to you about her, but I am sure she would like you to live with us; it is your natural home. And--and she would, I am sure, be pleased if she can know what is going on here below, to see that you fulfilled your kind intentions to her poor little grandsons." These last words with some hesitation.

Katherine kept silence, and still held her handkerchief to her eyes. So Mrs. Ormonde resumed: "A good, religious girl like you, Katherine, must feel that it is right to submit to the will of--"