The funeral over, Mrs. Liddell and her daughter went back to their modest home, feeling as though they had passed through some strange dream, which had vanished, leaving "not a wrack behind."

To Katherine it was like fresh life to return to the natural cheerful routine of her daily cares and employments, to struggle good-humoredly with indifferent servants, to do battle with her little nephews over their lessons, to walk with them and tell them stories. At times she almost forgot that the diligently sought will lay in its innocent-looking cover among her clothes, or that any results would flow from her daring and criminal act; then again the consciousness of having weighted her life with a secret she must never reveal would press painfully upon her, and make her greedy for the moment when Mr. Newton would relinquish the search, and she should reap the harvest she expected.

She never believed that her uncle was as rich as Ada supposed, but she did hope for a small fortune which might secure comfort and ease.

Mrs. Frederic Liddell was a real affliction during this period. The idea of inheriting John Liddell's supposed wealth was never absent from her thoughts, and seldom from her lips. Even the boys were infected by her gorgeous anticipations.

"I shall have a pony like that, and a groom to ride beside me," Cecil would cry when his attention was caught by any young equestrian. "And I will give you a ride, auntie. Shall you have a carriage too, or will you drive with mammy?"

"And I shall have a beautiful dog, like Mrs. Burnett's, and a garden away in the country," was Charlie's scheme. "You shall come and dig in it, auntie."

"Do not think of such things, my dears," was auntie's usual reply. "I am afraid we shall never be any richer than we are; so you must be diligent boys, and work hard to make fortunes for yourselves."

"Where did Uncle Liddell keep all his money?" was one of Cecil's questions in reply. "Did he keep it in big bags downstairs? He hadn't a nice house; it was quite a nasty one."

"Had he a big place in a cave, with trees that grow rubies and diamonds and beautiful things?" added Charlie.

"Why doesn't mamma buy us some ponies now?" continued Cis; "we should be some time learning to ride."

"I will not listen to you any more if you talk so foolishly. Try and think of something else—of the Christmas pantomime. You know grannie says you shall go if you do your lessons well," returned Katherine.

"It isn't silly!" exclaimed Cecil. "Mammy tells us we must take care of her when we are rich men, and that we shall be able to hold up our heads as high as any one. I can hold up my head now."

Such conversations were of frequent occurrence, and kept Katherine in a state of mental irritation.

Toward the end of October Mrs. Burnett brought relief in the shape of an invitation to Mrs. Frederic.

The Burnett family were spending the "dark days before Christmas" at Brighton, and thither hied the lively young widow in great glee. Things generally went smoother in her absence; the boys were more obedient, the meals more punctual.

Nevertheless Katherine observed that her mother did not settle to her writing as usual. Occasionally she shut herself up in the study, but when Katherine came in unexpectedly she generally found her resting her elbow on the table and her head on her hand, gazing at the blank sheet before her, or leaning back in her chair, evidently lost in thought.

"You do not seem to take much to your writing, mother dear," said Katherine one morning as she entered and sat down on a stool beside her.

"In truth I cannot, Katie. I do not know how it is, but no plots will come. I have generally been able to devise something on which to hang my characters and events; but my invention, such as it is—or rather was—seems dried up and withered. What shall I do if my slight vein is exhausted? Heaven knows I produced nothing very original or remarkable, but my lucubrations were saleable, and I do not see how we can do without this source of income."

"You only want rest," returned Katherine, taking her hand and laying her cheek against it. "Your fancy wants a quiet sleep, and then it will wake up fresh and bright. Take a holiday; put away pen, ink, and paper; and you will be able to write a lovely story long before the money we expect for your novel is expended."

"I hope so." She paused, and then resumed, with a sigh: "I ought to have more sense and self-control at my age, but I confess that the uncertainty about John Liddell's will absorbs me. Suppose, Katie, that his money were to come to you. Imagine you and I rich enough not to be afraid of the week after next! Why, our lives would be too blissful."

"They would," murmured Katherine. "When do you think we shall know?"

"I cannot tell. All possible search must be made before the law can be satisfied. My own impression is that your uncle did destroy his will, intending to make a different distribution of his money, and to provide for you."

"Yes, I believe he did," said Katherine, quietly. "I wish—oh, I do wish my uncle had had time to divide his property between us all; then there would be no ill feeling. But I suppose Cis and Charlie will get some, even if no will is found?"

"I have no idea. If poor Fred had lived, I suppose he would take a share."

They sat silent for some minutes. Then Kate rose and very deliberately shut up her mother's writing-book, collected her papers and rough note-book, and locked them away in her drawer. "Now, dearest mother," she said, "promise me not to open that drawer for ten days at least, unless a very strong inspiration comes to you. By that time we may know something certain about the will, and at any rate you will have had change of occupation. Then put on your bonnet and let us go to see our friend Mrs. Wray. Perhaps she may let us see her husband's studio, and if he is there we are sure to have some interesting talk. We both sorely need a change of ideas."

Mrs. Frederic Liddell returned from Brighton in a very thoughtful mood. She said she had had a "heavenly visit." Such nice weather—such a contrast to dirty, dreary, depressing London! She had met several old acquaintances, they had had company every night, and had she only had a third evening dress her bliss would have been complete. As it was, a slight sense of inferiority had taken the keen edge off her joy. "At any rate, the men didn't seem to think there was much amiss with me. Sir Ralph Brereton and Colonel Ormonde were really quite troublesome. I do not much like Sir Ralph. I never know if he is laughing at me or not, though I am sure I do not think there is anything to laugh at in me. Colonel Ormonde is so kind and sensible! Do you know, Mrs. Liddell, he says I ought to see Mr. Newton myself, to look after the interests of my darling boys, and—and try to ascertain the true state of affairs. That is what Colonel Ormonde says, and I suppose you wouldn't mind, Mrs. Liddell?" she ended, in a rather supplicating tone; for she was just a little in awe of her mother-in-law, kind and indulgent though she was.

"Go and see Mr. Newton by all means, Ada, if you feel it would be any satisfaction to you; but until the right time comes it will be very useless to make any inquiries. We leave it all to Mr. Newton."

"Oh, you and Katherine are so cold and immovable; you are not a bit like me. I am all sensitiveness and impulse. Well, if it is not raining cats and dogs I will go into that awful City and see Mr. Newton to-morrow."

"Would it not be well to make an appointment?"

"Oh dear no! I will take my chance; I would not write. Katie dear, I have torn all the flounce off my black and white dinner dress; you are so much more clever with your needle than I am, would you sew it on for me to-morrow?"

"No, I cannot, Ada—not to-morrow at least. I am busy altering mother's winter cloak, and she has nothing warm to put on until it is finished. I will show you how to arrange the flounce, and you will soon do it yourself if you try."

"Very well"—rather sulkily. "I am sure I was intended to be a rich man's wife, I am so helpless."

"And I am sure I was born under 'a three-half-penny constellation,' as L. E. L. said, for I rather like helping myself," returned Katherine, laughing. "Only I should like to have a little exterior help besides."

"Do you know, Katherine, I am afraid you are very proud. I believe you think yourself the cleverest girl in the world."

"I should be much happier if I did," said Katherine, good-humoredly. "Don't be a goose, Ada; let my disposition alone. I am afraid it is too decidedly formed to be altered."

"Colonel Ormonde was asking for you," resumed Mrs. Frederic, fearing she had allowed her temper too much play. "He is quite an admirer of yours."

"I am much obliged to him. Would you like to come to the theatre to-night? Mr. and Mrs. Wray have a box at the Adelphi, and have offered us two places. My mother thought you might like to go."

"With the Wrays? No, thank you. I never seem to get on with them; and if Colonel Ormonde happens to be there (and he might, for he is in town to-day), I should not care to be seen with them; they are not at all in society, you know."

"True," said Katherine, with perfect equanimity. "Then, dear mother, do come. Nothing takes you out of yourself so much as a good play. I shall enjoy it more if you are with us."

After a little discussion Mrs. Liddell agreed to go, and Mrs. Frederic retired to unpack, and to see what repairs were necessary, in a somewhat sulky mood.

The following morning Mrs. Liddell's head was aching so severely that her daughter would not allow her to get up. She therefore gave her sister-in-law an early luncheon, and saw her set forth on her visit to Mr. Newton. She was a little nervous about it; she wished Katherine to go with her, and yet she did not wish it.

She attired herself completely in black, and managed to give a mournful "distressed widow" aspect to her toilette: the little woman was an artist in her way, so long as her subject was self and its advantages. Then Katherine devoted herself to her mother, who had taken a chill. It grieved her to see how the slightest indisposition preyed upon her strength.

The period of waiting was terribly long and wearing. Had she, after all, committed herself to an ever-gnawing loss of self-respect to enrich another? Katherine asked herself this question more than once.

She had refrained from troubling Mr. Newton with fruitless questions or impatient expressions, and her mother admired her forbearance. But in truth Catherine hated to approach the subject of her possible inheritance, though she never faltered in her purpose of keeping the existence of her uncle's will a profound secret.

Mrs. Frederic Liddell returned from her visit to the friendly lawyer rather sooner than Katherine expected.

The moment she entered the drawing-room, where the latter was dusting the few china and other ornaments, her countenance evinced unusual disturbance.

"I am sure," she began, in a very high key, "if I had known what I was going to encounter, I should have stayed at home. There's no justice in this world for the widow and the fatherless."

"I cannot believe that Mr. Newton could be rude or unkind!" exclaimed Katherine, much startled.

"I do not say he was," returned Mrs. Fred, snappishly. "But either he is a stupid old idiot, or he has been telling me abominable stories. I don't—I can't believe them! Do you know he says he, they, all the old rogues together, believe that wretched miser had destroyed his will and died intestate, and that every penny will be yours; not a sou comes to the widow and children of the nephew. It is preposterous. It is the most monstrous injustice. If it is law, an act of Parliament ought to be passed to—to do away with it. Fancy your having everything, and me, my boys and myself, dependent on you!"—scornful emphasis on "you."

"Is this possible?" exclaimed Katherine, dropping her duster in dismay. "I thought that the property would be divided between the boys and myself."

"Why, that is only common-sense! If you do get everything you will be well rewarded for your three months' penal servitude. You knew what you were about, though you do despise rank and riches."

"But, Ada, I suppose my uncle would have destroyed his will whether I had been there or not."

"No. Mr. Newton's idea is that he intended to make a new will, probably leaving you a large sum, and so destroyed the old one. Mr. Newton thinks he grew to like you. Oh! you played your cards well! But it is too hard to think you cut out my dar-arling boys," she ended, with a sob.

Katherine grew very white; this outburst of fury roused her conscience. She pulled herself together in an instant of quick thought, however. "This is folly. What I have done will benefit the boys more than myself," she reflected.

"I do not wonder at your being vexed, Ada," she said, gently. "But fortunately one is not compelled to act according to law. If the whole of the fortune, whatever it may be, becomes mine, do you think I would keep it all to myself?"

"I am sure I don't know" said Mrs. Frederic, who had now subsided into the sulks. "When people get hold of money they seldom like to part with it; and I know you do not like me?"

"Why should you think so, Ada? We may not agree in our tastes, but that is no reason for dislike; and you know how glad I am to be of use to you, both for your own sake and poor Fred's."

"Well, I would rather not be dependent on you or any one. But there! I do not believe what that stupid old man says—I do not believe such a horrible law exists. I shall write and consult Colonel Ormonde, and find out if I could not dispute the will—no, not the will—the property. I should not like to give up my rights."

"Please, Ada, do not speak so loudly. My mother had just fallen asleep before you came in; and she had such a bad night!"

"Loud? I am not talking loudly. You mean to insinuate I am in a passion? I am nothing of the kind. I am perfectly cool, but determined—determined to have justice, and my fair share of this man's wealth!"

"It may not be wealth; it may be only competence, and it is not ours to share yet."

"Not yours, you mean; that is what you thought, Katherine. And as to wealth, I believe that cruel old miser was enormously rich! Where are the boys?"

"Out walking with Lottie. I am so glad they were not in to hear all this! Do not talk to them of being rich, dear Ada; it puts unhealthy ideas into their minds, and—"

"Upon my word! I like to hear you, a mere girl, not quite nineteen yet, advising me, a mother, a married woman, about my own children. You need not presume on your expected riches. I'll never play the part of a poor relation, and submit to be lectured by you."

Her sister-in-law's stings and passing fits of ill-humor never irritated Katherine unless they worried her mother, nor did this most unwonted outburst of irrepressible indignation, but it distressed her. "Come, Ada, don't be cross," she said. "It was perhaps want of tact in me to suggest anything, though my idea is right enough. It is quite natural that you should be awfully vexed. Perhaps Mr. Newton is wrong; at all events, if the law is unjust, I need not act unjustly, and believe me, I will not."

"I hope not," returned the young widow, a little mollified. "I always believe you haven't a bad heart, Katherine, though you have a disagreeble sullen temper. Now I am too open; you see the worst of me at once; but I do not remember unkindness; and if you do what is right in this, I—I shall always speak of you as you deserve. Do get me something to eat; I am awfully hungry, and though I hate beer, I will take some; it is better than nothing. How you go on on water I cannot imagine; it will ruin your digestion."

So they went amicably enough into the dining-room together, one to be ministered to, the other to minister.

Here the boys joined them; but for a wonder their mother was silent respecting her visit to the lawyer, and soon went away to write to Colonel Ormonde, on whom she had conferred, unasked, the office of prime counsellor and referee. This opened up a splendid field for letters full of flattering appeals to his wisdom and judgment, and touching little confessions of her own weakness, folly, and need for guidance.

"Dear Miss Liddell,—I should be glad if you could call on Tuesday next about one o'clock. I have various documents to show you, or I should not give you the trouble to come here. If Mrs. Liddell is disengaged and could come also it would be well. I am yours faithfully,
A. Newton."

Such was the letter which the first post brought to Katherine about six weeks after the death of John Liddell.

Katherine, who always rose and dressed first, found it on the table when she went down to give the boys their breakfast, to coax the fire to burn brightly if it was inclined to be sulky, and to make the coffee for her mother and Mrs. Fred.

As soon as she had seen the two little men at work on their bread and milk she flew back to her mother.

"Do read this! Do you think that Mr. Newton wants me because I am to have my uncle's money at last?"

"Yes, I do. There can be no other reason for his wishing to see you, dearest child. What a wonderful change it will make if this is the case! I can then cease, to mourn the failure of my poor powers, and let the publishers go free. My love, I did not think anything could affect you so much. You are white and trembling."

"I have been more anxious than you knew," returned Katherine, who felt strangely overcome, curiously terrified, at the near approach of success—the success she had ventured on so daring an act to secure. "I greatly feared some other claimant—some other will, I mean—might be found."

"Yes, I feared too. Yet there could be no claimant, apart from another will. Poor George, your uncle's only son, was killed, I remember. Take a little water, dear, and sit down. No, I did not fear another claimant when I thought, but I feared to hope too much."

"I feel all right now, mother. Such a prospect does not kill. Suppose we say nothing to Ada—she will worry our lives out—not at least till we know our fate certainly?"

"Perhaps it will be better not."

"And whatever I get we will share with the dear children, and give Ada some too. Oh, darling mother, think of our being alone together again, and tolerably at ease!"

It would be wearisome to the reader were the details of the interview with Mr. Newton minutely recorded.

He was evidently relieved and delighted to announce that all attempts to find the will had failed, and explained at some length to his very attentive listeners the steps to be taken and the particulars of the property bequeathed; how it devolved on Katherine to take out letters of administration; how at her age she had the power of choosing her own guardian for the two years which must elapse before she was of age; and finally that the large amount of which she had become mistress was so judiciously invested that he (Mr. Newton) could advise no change save the transference of stock to her name.

As it dawned upon Katherine that the sum she inherited amounted to something over eighty thousand pounds, she felt dizzy with surprise and fear. She had no idea she had been playing for such stakes. The sense of sudden responsibility pressed upon her; her hands trembled and her cheek paled.

"My dear young lady, you look as if you had met a loss instead of gaining a fortune," said Mr. Newton, looking kindly at her. "I have no doubt you will make a good use of your money, and I trust will enjoy many happy days."

"But my nephews, my sister-in-law, do they get nothing?"

"Not a penny. Of course you can, when of age, settle some portion upon them."

"I certainly will; but in the mean time—"

"In the mean time I will take care that you have a proper allowance."

"Thank you, dear Mr. Newton. Do get me something big enough to make us all comfortable, and I can share with Ada—with Mrs. Frederic. I do so want to take my mother abroad, and I could not leave Ada and the boys unless they were well provided for."

"Make your mind easy; the court will allow you a handsome income. So you must cheer up, in spite of the infliction of a large fortune," added Mr. Newton, with unwonted jocularity.

"Both Katherine and myself are warmly grateful for your kind sympathy," said Mrs. Liddell, softly. Then, after a short pause, she asked, "Do you know what became of Mr. Liddell's unfortunate wife?"

"She died eleven or twelve years ago. The family of—of the man she lived with had the audacity to apply for money, on account of her funeral, I think, and so I came to know she was dead. It was a sad business. The poor woman had a wretched life, but I don't think she was in any want."

"I only asked, because if she was in poverty—"

"Oh," interrupted the lawyer, "if she were alive, she would have her share of the estate, as her marriage was never dissolved."

A short pause ensued, and then Newton asked if Miss Liddell would like some money, as he would be happy to draw a check for any sum she required. Then, indeed, Katherine felt that her days of difficulty were over.

Mrs. Liddell and her daughter were in no hurry to leave their humble home. In truth Katherine was more frightened than elated at the amount of property she had inherited, and would have felt a little less guilty had she only succeeded in obtaining a moderate competence.

A curious stunned feeling made her incapable of her usual activity for the first few days, and averse even to plan for the future.

She kept her sister-in-law quiet by a handsome present of money wherewith to buy a fresh outfit for herself and her boys. Finally she roused up sufficiently to persuade Mrs. Liddell to see an eminent physician, for she did not seem to gather strength as rapidly as her daughter expected.

The great man, after a careful examination, said there was nothing very wrong; the nervous system seemed to be a good deal exhausted, and the bronchial attack of the previous year had left the lungs delicate, but that with care she might live to old age.

He directed, however, that Mrs. Liddell should go as soon as possible to a southern climate. He recommended Cannes or San Remo—indeed it would be advisable that several winters in future should be spent in a more genial atmosphere than that of England.

This advice exactly suited the wishes both of Katherine and her mother.

How easy it was to make arrangements in their altered circumstances! How magical are the effects of money! How quickly Katherine grew accustomed to the unwonted ease of her present lot! If—oh, if—she were ever found out, how should she bear it? How could she endure the pinch of poverty, added to the poison of shame? But the idea that all this wealth was really hers gained on her, while her fears were lulled to sleep by a pleasant sense of comfort and security.

Mrs. Frederic Liddell was a good deal disturbed on hearing that her mother-in-law was ordered abroad.

"Pray what is to become of me?" was her first question when Katherine announced the doctor's verdict. They were sitting over the fire in the drawing-room, after the boys had said good-night.

"Would you prefer staying in England?" asked Mrs. Liddell.

"For some reasons I should, but you know I must have something to live on."

"I know that," returned Katherine. "As I cannot execute any any deed of gift for two years, I think I had better give you an allowance for yourself and the boys, and let you do as you like. I have talked with Mr. Newton about it."

"Well, dear, I think it would be the best plan," said Mrs. Frederic, amiably. "I have not the least scruple in taking the money, because you know it ought really to be ours."

"Exactly," returned Katherine, with a slight smile, and she named so liberal a sum that even Mrs. Fred was satisfied.

"Well, I am sure that is very nice, dear," she said; "and when you are of age will you settle it on my precious boys?"

"I will," replied Katherine, deliberately; "and I hope always to see a great deal of them."

"Of course you will, but you will not long be Katherine Liddell. When Mr. Wright comes, my boys will get leave to stay with their mother as much as they like."

"I do not think I shall easily forget them, even if Mr. Wright appears," said Katherine, good-humoredly.

"What a strange girl Katie is!" pursued her sister-in-law. "Was she never in love, Mrs. Liddell? Had she never any admirers?"

"Not that I know of, Ada."

"Oh! I have been in love many times!" cried Katherine, laughing. "Don't you remember, mother, the Russian prince I used to dance with at Madame du Lac's juvenile parties?—I made quite a romance about him; and that young Austrian—I forget his name—whom we met at Stuttgart, Baron Holdenberg's nephew; he was charming, to say nothing of Lohengrin and Tannhauser. I have quite a long list of loves, Ada. Oh, I should like to dance again! To float round to the music of a delightful Austrian band would be charming."

"My dear Katherine, that is all nonsense, as you will find out one day." Then, after some moments of evidently severe reflection, her brows knit, and her soft baby-like lips pressed together she said: "I think I should like to move nearer town, and get a nice nursery governess for Cis and Charlie, and—Don't you think it would be a good plan?"

"The governess, yes, as they will lose their present one when Katherine goes. But why not stay on here till next autumn, when the lease or agreement expires? You will have it all to yourself in about ten days, and it will be quite large enough," said Mrs. Liddell.

"Stay on here!" began her daughter-in-law, in a high key, and with a look of great disgust. She stopped herself suddenly, however, smoothed her brow, and added, "Well, I will think about it," after which, with unusual self-control, she changed the subject, and talked gravely about governesses, their salaries and qualifications, till it was time to go to bed.

A few days after this conversation the house was invaded by a host of applicants for the post of instructress to the two little boys. Every shade of complexion, all possible accomplishments, the most varied and splendid testimonials, were presented to the bewildered little widow, in consequence of her application to a governesses' institution. She was fain to ask Katherine to help her in choosing, much to the latter's satisfaction, as she did not like to offer assistance, though she wished to influence the choice of a preceptress. Together they fixed on a quiet, kindly looking young woman, to whom both took rather a fancy, and Katherine felt very much relieved to know that this important point was settled.

But Mrs. Frederic did not seem at ease; there was a restlessness about her, a disinclination to leave the house, that attracted Katherine's notice, although she was much occupied with preparations for their departure. At last the mystery was solved.

One afternoon Mrs. Liddell and Katherine had been a good deal later than usual in returning home, having determined to finish their shopping and take a few days' complete rest before starting on their travels.

Mrs. Frederic met them with a heightened color and a curious embarrassed look. The drawing room was lit by a splendid fire, and sweet with the perfume of abundant hot-house flowers; there was something vaguely prophetic in the air.

"Do come to the fire, dear Mrs. Liddell; you must be so cold! I have been quite uneasy about you," she exclaimed, effusively.

"Have you had a visitor, Ada?" asked Katherine, whose suspicions were aroused.

"I have, and I want to tell you all about it. I am far too candid to keep anything from those I love. My visitor was Colonel Ormonde. He asked me to marry him, and—and, dear Mrs. Liddell—Katherine—I hope you will not be offended, but I—I said I would," burst forth Mrs. Frederic; and then she burst into tears.

There was a minute's silence. Katherine flushed crimson, and did not speak, but Mrs. Liddell said, kindly: "My dear Ada, if you think Colonel Ormonde will make you happy and be kind to the boys, you are quite right. I never expected a young creature like you to live alone for the rest of your existence, and I believe Colonel Ormonde is a man of character and position."

"He is indeed," cried Ada, falling on her mother-in-law's neck. "You are the wisest, kindest woman in the world. And you, Katherine?"

"I do hope you will be very, very happy," responded Katherine; "but I must say I think he is rather too old for you. That, however, is your affair."

"Yes, of course it is"—leaving Mrs. Liddell to hug Katherine. "I am quite fond of him; that is, I esteem and like him. Of course I shall never love any one as I did my dear darling Fred; but I do want some one to help me with the boys, and Marmaduke (that's his name) is quite fond of them. So now, dear Mrs. Liddell, I will stay on here till—till I am married, if you don't mind."

"It is the best thing you can do, Ada. I wish we could stay and be present at your marriage."

"But that is impossible," cried Katherine.

"And not at all necessary," added Mrs. Frederic, hastily. "My friend Mrs. Burnett will help me in every way, and I have been trouble enough already."

"I do not think so," said Mrs. Liddell, quietly. "But I am very weary. I will go to my room. Katie dear, bring me some tea presently."

And the widow escaped to rest, perhaps to weep over the bright boy so dear to her, so soon forgotten by the wife of his bosom.

Not many days after, Katherine and her mother set forth upon their travels, leaving nothing they regretted save the two little boys, respecting whose fate Katherine felt anything but satisfied. Of this she said nothing to her mother. And so, with temporary forgetfulness of the deed which was destined to color her whole life, she saw the curtain fall on the first act of her story.