"Oh, not yet, please?" The little fellow came tumbling down the bank, followed by Charlie, who immediately caught his aunt's hand and repeated, "Not yet, auntie!"

"These are Mrs. Ormonde's boys, I suppose?" said Errington.

"Yes; have you never seen them before?"

"Never. And have you not had enough climbing?" he added, good-humoredly, to Charlie.

"No, not half enough!" cried Cis. "There's _such_ a bunch of violets just under that biggest beech-tree, nearly up at the top! Do let me gather them--just those; do--do--do!"

"Very well; do not go too fast, or you will break your neck."

Both boys started off, leaving their basket at Katherine's feet.

"I remember now," said Errington, looking at her, "where I saw I saw you before. Is was two--nearly three--years ago, at Hyde Park corner, when that elder boy had a narrow escape from being run over."

"Were _you_ there?" she exclaimed, so evidently surprised that Errington saw the impulse was genuine. "I recollect Mr. Payne and Colonel Ormonde; but I did not see _you_."

"Then where _have_ you met me?" was at his lips, but he did not utter the words.

"Well, Payne was of real service; I did nothing. The little fellow had a close shave."

"He had indeed," said Katherine, thoughtfully, with downcast eyes; then, suddenly raising them to his, she said, as if to herself, "And you were there too! How strange it all is!"

"I see nothing so strange in it, Miss Liddell," smiling good-humoredly.

"Have you any superst.i.tion on the subject?"

"No; I am not superst.i.tious; yet it was curious--I mean, to meet by accident on that day just before--" She stopped. "And now I am connected with Colonel Ormonde, living with Mr. Payne's sister and--and talking here with--_you_."

"These coincidences occur perpetually when people move in the same set,"

returned Errington, feeling absurdly curious, and yet not knowing how to get at the train of recollection or a.s.sociation which underlay her words--words evidently unstudied and impulsive.

"I suppose so. And, you know--Mr. Payne," Katherine continued, quickly--"how good he is! He lives completely for others."

"Yes, I believe him to be thoroughly, honestly good. How hard he toils, and with what a pitiful result!"

"I wish he would go. Why does he stand there making conversation?"

thought Katherine, while she said aloud: "I don't see that. If every one helped two or three poor creatures whom they knew, we should not have all this poverty and suffering which are distracting to think about."

"I doubt it; it would be more likely to pauperize the whole nation."

Here Charlie and Cis, with earth-stained knees and hands--the latter full of violets--reluctantly descended. Adding these to the basket already overflowing, they had a short wrangle as to who should carry it, and then Katherine turned her steps homeward. Errington pa.s.sed the bridle over his arm, and to her great annoyance, walked beside her.

"Are you, then, disposed to give yourself to faith and to good works?"

"I do not know. I should like to help those who want, but I fear I am too fond of pleasure to sacrifice myself--at least I was and I suppose the love will return. Of course it is easy to give money; it is hard to give one's self."

"You seem very philosophic for so young a lady."

"I am not young," said Katherine, sadly; "I am years older than Lady Alice."

"How many--one or two?" asked Errington, in his kind, fatherly, somewhat superior tone, which rather irritated her.

"The years I mean are not to be measured by the ordinary standard; even _you_ must know that some years last longer--no, that is not the expression--press heavier than others."

"Even I? Do you think I am specially matter-of-fact?"

"I have no right to think you anything, for I do not know you; but you give me that impression."

"I dare say I am; nor do I see why I should object to be so considered."

Here Cecil, who got tired of a conversation from which he could gather nothing, put in his oar: "Are you Mr. Errington?"

"I am. How do you know my name?"

"I saw you going out with the Colonel to the meet--oh, a long while ago!

And Miss Richards and nurse were talking about you."

"They said you had a real St. Bernard dog--one that gets the people out of the snow," cried Charlie. "Will you let him come here? I want to see him."

"_You_ had better come and pay him a visit."

"Oh yes, thank you!" exclaimed Cis. "Auntie will take us, perhaps.

Auntie will take us to the sea-side, and then we shall bathe, and go in boats, and learn to row."

"Cis, run with me to that big tree at the foot of the hill. Auntie will carry the basket," cried Charlie, and the next moment they were off.

"Fine little fellows," said Errington. "I like children."

"I am going to ask Mrs. Ormonde to lend them to me for a few months, for they are all I have of kith or kin."

"They are not at all like you," returned Errington, letting his quiet, but to her most embarra.s.sing, eyes rest upon her face.

"Yet they are my only brother's children." Here Katherine paused with a sense of relief; they had reached a stile where a footway led across some fields and a piece of common overgrown with bracken and gorse. It was the short-cut to Castleford, by which Cecil had led her to the Melford Woods.

"Oh, do come round by the road, auntie," he exclaimed; "perhaps Mr.

Errington will let me ride his horse."

"I do not know if _he_ will, Cis, but I certainly will not. I am tired too, dear, and want to get home the shortest way I can, so bid Mr.

Errington good-by, and come with me. No, don't shake hands; yours are much too dirty."

"Never mind; when you are a big boy I'll give you a mount. Good by, Master Charlie--_you_ are Charlie, are you not? Till we meet at dinner, Miss Liddell." He raised his hat, and divining that she wished him to let her get over the stile una.s.sisted, he mounted his horse and rode swiftly away.

"I am sure he would have given me a ride if you had gone by the road, auntie," said Cecil, reproachfully.

"I could not have allowed, you, dear; so do not think about it."

Errington meanwhile rode on, unconsciously slackening his pace as he mused. "No, she certainly has never seen me before, yet she knows me.

How? She was very glad to get rid of me just now. Why? I am inoffensive enough. There is something uncommon about her; she gives me the idea of having a history, which is anything but desirable for a young woman.

What fine eyes she has! She is something like that Sibyl of Guercino's in the Capitol. Why does she object to me? It is rather absurd. I must make her talk, then I shall find out."