"I do not like to speak of Lord de Burgh," she said at length.

"When does he return?

"I do not know. I know nothing of his plans."

"Then you sent him empty away?" said Errington, smiling.

"I very nearly married him!" she exclaimed, frankly. "He was kind and generous, and would have been good to the boys; but at last I could not.

Oh! I could _not_!"

"I am sorry for De Burgh," said Errington, thoughtfully, "but you were right; your wisdom is more of the heart than the head. Do you remember that day (how vividly I remember it!) when you came to me and told me your strange story? It was the turning-point of my life. When I confessed I knew nothing of the deep, warm, tender affection that actuated _you_, you said that for me wisdom was from one entrance quite shut out."

"I can remember nothing clearly of that dreadful day, only that you were very forgiving and good," returned Katherine, pressing her hands together to still their trembling.

"Well, from the moment you spoke those words, the light of the wisdom you meant dawned upon me, and grew stronger and brighter, till my whole being was flooded with the love you inspired. You opened a new world to me; your voice was always in my ears, your eyes looking into mine." He spoke in a low, earnest, but composed tone, as if he had made up his mind to the fullest utterance. Katherine covered her face with her hands with the unconscious instinct to hide the emotion she felt it would express. "Many things kept me silent. Fear that the sight of me was painful to you; the dread of seeming to seek your fortune; my own uncertain position. Then, when all was taken from you, and I was by my own act deprived of the power to help you, you were so brave and patient that profound esteem mingled with the strange, sweet, wild fire you had kindled! Am I so painfully a.s.sociated in your mind that you cannot give me something of the wealth of love stored in your heart? You have taught me what love is, will you not reward so apt a pupil?"

"Mr. Errington," said Katherine, letting him take her cold trembling hand, "is it possible you can love and trust a woman who has acted a lie for years as I have?"

"I cannot help both loving and trusting you, utterly," he returned, holding her hand tenderly in both his own. "I believe in your truth as I believe in the reality of the sun's light, and if you can love me I believe I can make you happy. I have but a humble lot to offer you, yet I think it is--it will be a tranquil and secure one. I can help you in bringing up those boys, I will never quarrel with you for clinging to them, and will do the best I can for them! You know _I_ have a creditor's claim; Roman law gave the debtor over into the hands of the creditor," continued Errington, growing bolder as he felt how her hand trembled in his grasp; "you must pay me by the surrender of yourself, by accepting a life for a life. Katherine----"

"Ah! how can I answer you? If indeed you can trust and respect me, I can and will love you well," she exclaimed, with the sweet frankness which always enchanted him.

"Will you love me with the whole unstinted love of your rich nature? I cannot spare a grain," said Errington, jealously.

"But I do love you," murmured Katherine; "I am almost frightened at loving you so much."

Could it be cold, composed, immovable Errington who strained her so closely to his heart, whose lips clung so pa.s.sionately to hers?

"I have a great deal to tell you," began Katherine, when she had extricated herself and recovered some composure. "But I must go and see poor Miss Payne; she will wonder what has become of me."

"Tell her you are obliged to talk to me of business, and come back soon.

I have much to consult you about, and I can only remain till to-morrow evening--do not stay away."

And Katherine returned very soon.

"Miss Payne is dreadfully puzzled," she said, smiling and blushing, quivering in every vein with the strange, almost awful happiness which overwhelmed her.

"Now, what have you to tell me?" asked Errington, and she gave him a full description of George Liddell's visit and proposal to provide for Cis and Charlie.

Errington was too happy to heed the details much, he only remarked that he was glad Liddell had come to his right mind.

"I want you to tell Miss Payne as soon as possible our new plans; she is coming downstairs this evening, you say? Let me break the news to her. I think she will give us her blessing; and, Katherine, my sweet Katherine, there is no reason to delay our marriage. You have no fixed home; the sooner you make one for yourself and me the better. The idea is intoxicating. Our poverty sets us free from the trammels of conventionality; we have nothing to wait for."

So they were married.

Here ought to come "Finis!" yet real life had only begun for them. Were they happy? Yes. For under the wild sweetness of warmest pa.s.sionate love lay the lasting rock of comprehension and genial companionship.

Fuller knowledge brought deeper esteem, and the only secret Katherine ever kept from her husband was the true history of Rachel Trant.

A severe attack of fever, brought on by overstudy, immediately after Katherine's marriage, prevented Bertie Payne from carrying out his missionary scheme. He was reluctantly obliged to put up with the East-End heathen, "who," as Miss Payne observed, "were bad enough to satisfy the largest appet.i.te for sinners."

There his faithful sister established herself to make a home for him, renouncing her comfortable West-End abode, and finding ample interest in the pursuits she affected to treat as fads.

"Altogether everything has turned out in the most extraordinary and unexpected manner," as Mrs. Ormonde observed to Mrs. Needham, whom she encountered at one of Lady Mary Vincent's receptions. "Katherine seems quite proud to settle down in a suburban villa away in St. John's Wood as Mrs. Errington, while she might have made a figure at court as Lady de Burgh. By the way, I see your friend, Mrs. Urquhart, was presented at the last drawing-room."

"Yes, and was one of the handsomest women there.--But I don't suppose Mrs. Errington ever gives a thought to drawing-room or Buckingham Palace b.a.l.l.s.--You see she is in a way always at court, for her king is always beside her," returned Mrs. Needham, with a becoming smile. "Good-night, Mrs. Ormonde."

THE END