Miss Payne, returning from her dinner, found Katherine sitting up for her, apparently occupied with a book, and in the little confidential talk which ensued Katherine told her of Rachel Trant's intention of consulting Mr. Newton respecting her plans for increasing her business with a view to a.s.sisting her benefactress.

Miss Payne received this communication in silence; but after a moment's thought observed, in a grave, approving tone; "You have not been deceived in her, then. I really believe Rachel Trant is a young woman of principle and integrity."

"Yes, I have always thought so." Then, after a pause, she resumed: "I wonder what reply I shall have from Ada to-morrow--no, the day after to-morrow."

"Do not worry yourself about it. She will make herself disagreeable, of course; but it is just a trouble to be got through with. Go to bed, my dear; try to sleep and to forget. You are looking f.a.gged and worn."

But Katherine could not help dwelling upon the picture her imagination presented of the morrow's breakfast-time at Castleford; of the dismay with which her letter would be read; of Ada's tears and Colonel Ormonde's rage; of the torrent of advice which would be poured upon her.

Then what decision would Colonel Ormonde come to about the boys? He would banish them to some cheap out-of-the-way school. It was impossible to say what he would do.

Naturally she did not sleep well or continuously, disturbed as she was by such thoughts--such uneasy antic.i.p.ations--and her eyes showed the results of a bad night when she met Miss Payne in the morning.

About eleven o'clock Katherine came quickly into Miss Payne's particular sitting-room, where she made up her accounts and studied her bank-book.

"What is it?" asked that lady, looking up, and perceiving that Katherine was agitated.

"A telegram from Ada. They will be here about five this afternoon."

"Well, never mind. There is nothing in that to scare you."

"I am not scared, but I wish that interview was over."

"Yes; I shall be glad when it is; though I shall not obtrude on his Royal Highness. (I suppose he is coming as well as she.) I shall be in the house, so you can send for me if you want me."

"Thank you, Miss Payne; you are very good to me. I feel that I ought not to stay here crowding up your house."

"Nonsense! I am not in such a hurry to find a new inmate. I shall not like any one as well as you. I wish I could give up and live in a neat little cottage, but I cannot. Indeed, if you think I may, I should like to mention this deplorable change in your fortunes to Mrs. Needham. She knows every one, and can bring all sorts of people together if she likes."

"By all means, Miss Payne. There is no reason why you should not."

And after a little more conversation Katherine went back to her occupation of arranging her belongings and wardrobe, that when the moment of parting came she might be quite ready to go.

To wait patiently for that which you know will be painful is torture of no mean order. It was somewhat curtailed for Katherine on that memorable day, for Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde arrived half an hour sooner than she expected.

They had driven direct from the station to Wilton Street, and Katherine saw at a glance that both were greatly disturbed.

"Katherine, what is the meaning of your dreadful letter?" cried Mrs.

Ormonde, without any previous greeting, while the Colonel barked a gruff "How d'ye do?"

"My letter, Ada, I am sorry to say, meant what it said," returned Katherine, sadly. "Do sit down, and let us discuss what is best to be done."

"What can be done?" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde, bursting into tears.

"For G.o.d's sake, don't let us have tears and nonsense," said Colonel Ormonde, roughly. "Tell me, Katherine, is it possible Newton means to give in to this impostor? Why does he not demand proper proof, and throw the whole business into chancery?"

"I am sure Mr. Newton could not doubt George Liddell's story. He could not go back from his own involuntary recognition, nor could I pretend to doubt what I believe is true."

"Pooh! that is high-flown bosh. You need not say what you do or do not believe. All you have to do is to throw the onus of proof on this fellow."

"It is all too dreadful," said Mrs. Ormonde, in tearful tones. "To think that you will allow yourself to be robbed, and permit the dear boys to be reduced to beggary, for a mere crochet--it is too bad. I never will believe this horrid man is the person he represents himself to be; never."

"I wish you would go and speak to Mr. Newton. He would explain the folly of resisting."

"And how do you know that he is not bribed?" returned Mrs. Ormonde, with a little sob. "Every one knows what dreadful wretches lawyers are. And though I dare say you meant well, Katherine, but having induced us to believe you would provide for the boys, it is a little hard--indeed very hard--on Colonel Ormonde to have them thrown back on his hands, and it is really your duty to do something to relieve us."

"Back on my hands!" echoed the Colonel. "I'll not take them back. Why should I? I have been completely swindled in the whole business. I am the last man to support another fellow's brats. Why didn't that old lawyer of yours ascertain whether your uncle's son was dead or alive before he let you pounce upon the property and play Lady Bountiful with what did not belong to you?" And Colonel Ormonde paced the room in a fury, all chivalrous tradition melting away in the fierce heat of disappointed greed.

"You have no right to find fault with me," cried Katherine, stung to self-a.s.sertion. "I did well and generously by your children and yourself, Ada (I must say so, as you seem to forget it). There is more cause to sympathize with me in the reverse that has befallen me than to throw the blame of what is inevitable on one who is a greater sufferer than yourselves. Do you not know that the worst pang my bitterest enemy--had I one--could inflict is to feel I must give up the boys?

Matters are still unsettled, but if my cousin can be induced to deal mercifully with me, and not absorb my little all to liquidate what is legally due to him, I will gladly keep Cis and Charlie, and give them what I have, rather than throw them on Colonel Ormonde's charity. I am deeply sorry for your disappointment, but I have done nothing to irritate Colonel Ormonde into forgetting what is due to a lady and his wife's benefactress." Katherine was thoroughly roused, and stood, head erect, with glowing eyes, and soft red lips curling with disdain.

"I always said she was violent; didn't' I, Duke?" sobbed Mrs. Ormonde.

"Katherine, you do amaze me."

"There is no denying she is a plucky one," he returned, with a gruff laugh. "I too deny that you should consider it a misfortune for the boys to come under my care. I owe a duty to my own son, and am not going to play the generous step-father to his hurt. If you can't come to advantageous terms with this--this impostor, as I verily believe he is.

I'll send the boys to the Bluecoat School or some such inst.i.tution. They have turned out very good men before this."

"I am sure we could expect no more from Colonel Ormonde, and when you think that I shall be entirely dependent on him for"--sob--"my very gowns"--sob--"and--and little outings--and" a total break down.

"If I am penniless," said Katherine, controlling her inclination to scream aloud with agony, "I must accept your offer--any offer that will provide for my nephews. If not, I will devote myself and what I have to them. I really wish you would go and see Mr. Newton; he will make you understand matters better than I can; and as you have come in such a spirit, I should be glad if you would leave me. I cannot look on you as friends, considering how you have spoken."

"By George!" interrupted the Colonel, much astonished. "This is giving us the turn-out."

"What ingrat.i.tude!" cried his wife, with pious indignation, as she rose and tied on her veil.

Her further utterance was arrested, for the door was thrown open, and Francois announced, "Mr. Errington."

A great stillness fell upon them as Errington walked in, cool, collected, well dressed, as usual.

"Very glad to meet you here, Mrs. Ormonde," he said, when he had shaken hands with Katherine. "Miss Liddell has need of all her friends at such a crisis. How do, Colonel; you look the incarnation of healthy country life."

"Ah--ah; I'm very well, thank you," somewhat confusedly. "Just been trying to persuade Miss Liddell here to dispute this preposterous claim.

I don't believe this man is the real thing."

"I am afraid he is," gravely; "I know him, for John Liddell was a friend of my father's in early life, and I feel satisfied this man is his son."

"You do. Well, I shall speak to my own lawyers and Newton about it: one can't give up everything at the first demand to stand and deliver."

"No; neither is it wise to throw good money after bad. We were just going to Mr. Newton's, so I'll say good-morning. Till to-morrow, Katherine. I'll report what Newton says."

"Good-morning, Mr. Errington," said Mrs. Ormonde, pulling herself together, and her veil down. "This is a terrible business! I feel it as acutely as if it were myself--I mean my own case. I am sure it is so good of you to come and see Katherine. I hope you will give us a few days at Castleford." So murmuring and with a painful smile, she hastened downstairs after her husband.

Then Errington closed the door and returned to where Katherine stood, white and trembling, in the middle of the room. "I am afraid your kinsfolk have been but Job's comforters," he said, looking earnestly into her eyes, his own so grave and compa.s.sionate that her heart grew calmer under their gaze. "You are greatly disturbed."

"They have been very cruel," she murmured. "Yet, not knowing all you do, they could not know how cruel. They are so angry because what I tried to do for the boys proved a failure. They little dream how guilty I feel for having created this confusion. If I am obliged to give up Cis and Charlie to--to Colonel Ormonde, their lot will be a miserable one!" She spoke brokenly, and her eyes brimmed over, the drops hanging on her long lashes.

"Sit down, Miss Liddell. I am deeply grieved to see you so depressed. I have ventured to call because I have a pin's point of hope for you, which I trust will excuse me for presenting myself, as I know you would rather not see me."

"To-day I am glad to see you. I should always be glad to see you but--but for my own conscience. Do not misunderstand me." With a sudden impulse she stretched out her fair soft hand to him. He took and held it, wondering to find that although so cold when first he touched it, it grew quickly warm in his grasp.