That Rachel Trant should have drifted into communication George Liddell seemed a most whimsical turn of the wheel of fortune to Katherine, and she thought much of it.

Would it lead to any reconciliation between herself and her strange, unreasonable, half-savage kinsman? She fancied she could interest herself in his daughter, and towards himself she felt no enmity; rather a mild description of curiosity. Why should they not be on friendly terms?

But this and other subjects of thought were swallowed up in the anticipated pain of removing her nephews from their school at Sandbourne, where they had been so happy and done so well. Miss Payne's friendly offer to take them in for a week or two had relieved Katherine of a difficulty; and Mrs. Needham was most considerate in promising to give her ample time to prepare them for their new school.

What a difference, poor Katherine thought, between the present and the past! quite as great as between the price of Sandbourne and Wandsworth. There was a certain rough and ready tone about the latter establishment which distressed her; yet the school-master's wife seemed a kindly, motherly woman, and the urchins she saw running about the playground looked ruddy and happy enough. It was the best of the cheaper schools she had seen, and to Dr. Paynter's care she resolved to commit them. As Wandsworth was within an easy distance, she could often go to see them.

Another matter kept her somewhat on the qui vive. In spite of Mrs. Ormonde's assurance that De Burgh had forgotten her, Katherine had a strong idea that she had not seen the last of him.

Though Mrs. Needham's wide circle of acquaintances included many men and women of rank, she knew nothing of the set to which De Burgh belonged. Those of his class, admitted within the hospitable gate of the Shrubberies, were usually persons of literary, artistic, or dramatic leanings and connections, of which he was quite innocent.

It was a day or two after Katherine's last interview with Rachel Trant, and Mrs. Needham was "at home" in a more formal way than usual. Katherine was assisting her chief in receiving, when, in the tea-room, she was accosted by Errington. "Have you had tea yourself?" he asked, with his grave, sweet smile.

"Oh yes! long ago."

"Then, Miss Liddell, indulge me in a little talk. It is so long since I have had a word with you! It seems that since we agreed to be fast friends, founding our friendship on the injuries we have done each other, that we have drifted apart more than ever. Pray do not turn away with that distressed look. I am so unfortunate in being always associated with painful ideas in your mind."

"Indeed you are not. All the good of my present life I owe to you," and she raised her soft brown eyes, full of tender gratitude, to his. It was a glance that might have warmed any man's heart, and Errington's answer was:

"Come, then, and let us exchange confidences," the crowd round the door at that moment obliging him, as it seemed to her, to hold her arm very close to his side.

At the end of the hall, which was little more than a passage, was a door sheltered by a large porch. The door had been removed, and the porch turned into a charming nook, with draperies, plants, colored lamps, and comfortable seats. Here Errington and Katherine established themselves.

"First," he began, "tell me, how do you fare at Mrs. Needham's hands? I am glad to see that you seem quite at home; and if I may be allowed to say it, you bear up bravely under the buffets of unkindly fortune."

"I have no right to complain," returned Katherine. "As to Mrs. Needham, were I her younger sister she could not be kinder. I think the great advantage of the semi-Bohemian set to which she belongs, is that among them there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither bond nor free, for all are one in our common human nature. Were I to go down into the kitchen and cook the dinner, it would not put me at any disadvantage with my good friend. I should have only to wash my hands and don my best frock, and in the drawing-room I should be as much the daughter of the house as ever."

Errington laughed. There was a happy sound in his laugh. "You describe our kind hostess well. Such women are the salt of the social earth. And your 'dear boys.' How and where are they?"

"Ah! that is a trial. I go down to Sandbourne the day after to-morrow, to take them from that delightful school, and place them in a far different establishment."

"Ha! Does Mrs. Ormonde go with you?"

"Mrs. Ormonde? Oh no. You know—" she hesitated. "Well, you see, Colonel Ormonde is exceedingly indignant with me because I have lost my fortune, and I fancy he does not approve of Ada's having anything to do with me. Besides—" She paused, not liking to betray too much of the family politics. "They have agreed to give the boys over to me."

"I know. I paid Mr. Newton a long visit the other day, and he told me—perhaps more than you would like."

"I do not mind how much you know," said Katherine, sadly. "I am glad you care enough to inquire."

"I want you to understand that I care very, very much," replied Errington, in a low, earnest tone. "You and I have crossed each other's paths in an extraordinary manner, and if you will allow me, I should like to act a brother's part to you if—" He broke off abruptly, and Katherine, looking up to him with a bright smile, exclaimed, "I shall be delighted to have such a brother, and will not give you more trouble than I can help."

"Thank you." He seemed to hesitate a moment, and then, with a change of tone, observed: "You and Miss Bradley seem to have become intimate. You must find her an agreeable companion. I think she might be a useful friend."

"She is extremely kind. I cannot say how much obliged to her I am; but," continued Katherine, impelled by an unaccountable antagonism, "do you know, I cannot understand why she likes me. There is no real sympathy between us. She is so wise and learned. She never would do wrong things from a sudden irresistible impulse, and then devour her heart with, not repentance, exactly, but remorse which cannot be appeased."

"Probably not. She is rather a remarkable woman. Strong, yet not hard. I fancy we are the arbiters of our own fate."

"Oh no! no!" cried Katherine, with emotion. "Just think of the snares and pitfalls which beset us, and how hard it is to keep the narrow road when a heart-beat too much, a sudden rush of sorrow or of joy, and our balance is lost: even steady footsteps slide from the right way. Believe me, some never have a fair chance."

Errington made a slight movement nearer to her, and after a brief pause said, "I should like to hear you argue this with Angela Bradley."

It sounded strange and unpleasant to hear him say "Angela."

"I never argue with her," said Katherine. "Mine are but old-fashioned weapons, while hers are of the latest fashion and precision. Moreover, we stand on different levels, I am sorry to say. I wonder she troubles herself about me. Is it pure benevolence? or"—with a quick glance into his eyes, which were unusually animated—"did you ask her of her clemency to throw me some crumbs of comfort? If so, she has obeyed you gracefully and well."

"Unreason has a potent advocate in you, Miss Liddell," said Errington; smiling a softer smile than usual. "But I want you to understand and appreciate Miss Bradley. She is a fine creature in every sense of the word. As friend, I am sure she would be loyal with a reasonable loyalty, and I flatter myself she is a friend of mine."

"Another sister?" asked Katherine, forcing herself to smile playfully.

"Yes," returned Errington, slowly, looking down as he spoke; "a different kind of sister."

Katherine felt her cheeks, her throat, her ears, glow, as she listened to what she considered a distinct avowal of his engagement to the accomplished Angela, but she only said, softly and steadily, "I hope she will always be a dear and loyal sister to you."

There was a moment's silence. Then Errington said, abruptly, his eyes, as she felt, on her face, "Have you seen De Burgh since his return?"

"No."

"No doubt you will. What a curious fellow he is! I wonder how he will act, now that he has rank and fortune? He has some good points."

"Oh yes, many," cried Katherine, warmly, "I could not help liking him. He is very true."

"And extremely reckless," put in Errington, coldly, as Katherine paused to remember some other good point.

"Certainly not calculating," she returned.

"Probably his new responsibilities may steady him."

"They may. I almost wish I dare——"

"My dear Katherine, I have been looking everywhere for you. I want you so much to play Mrs. Grandison's accompaniment. She is going to sing one of your songs, and no one plays it as well as you do. So sorry to interrupt your nice talk; but what can a wretched hostess do?"

"Oh, I am quite ready, Mrs. Needham," said Katherine; and she rose obediently.

"Will you come, Mr. Errington?" asked the lady of the house.

"To hear Mrs. Grandison murder one of Miss Liddell's songs, which I dare say I have heard at Castleford? No, thank you. I shall bid you good-night. I am going on to Lady Barbara Bonsfield's, where I shall not stay long."

"Horrid woman! she robbed me of Angela Bradley to-night!" exclaimed Mrs. Needham.

With a quick "Good-night," Katherine went to fulfil her duties in the drawing-room, and did not see Errington again for several days.

"I was vexed with you for not singing last night," said Mrs. Needham, as she sat at luncheon with her young friend the next morning. "You may not have a great voice, but you are much more thoroughly trained than half the amateurs whose squallings and screechings are applauded to the echo."

"I do not know why, but I really did not feel that I could sing, Mrs. Needham. I do not often feel miserable and choky, but I did last night. I am so anxious and uneasy about the boys and the school they are going to, that I was afraid of making a fool of myself. When the change is accomplished I shall be all right again, and not bore you with my sentimentality."

"You don't do anything of the sort. You are a capital plucky girl. Now I have nothing particular for you to do this afternoon, and I can't take you with me; so just go out and call on Miss Bradley or Miss Payne to divert your——"

"A gentleman for Miss Liddell;" said the parlor maid, placing a card beside Katherine.

"Lord de Burgh!" she exclaimed, in great surprise.

"Lord who?" asked Mrs. Needham.

"Lord de Burgh; he is a relation of Colonel Ormonde; I used to meet him at Castleford."

Mrs. Needham eyed her curiously. "Oh, very well, dear," she said, with great cheerfulness. "Go and see him, and give him some tea; only it is too early. I am sorry I cannot put in an appearance, but I have just a hundred and one things to do before I go to Professor Maule's scientific 'afternoon' at four. Give me my bag and note-book. I must go straight away to the 'Incubator Company's Office;' I promised them a notice in my Salterton letter next week. There, go, child; I don't want you any more."

"But I am in no hurry, Mrs. Needham. Lord de Burgh is no very particular friend of mine."

"Well, well! That remains to be seen. Just smooth your hair, won't you? It's all rough where you have leaned on your hand over your writing. It's no matter? Well, it doesn't much. Do you think he has any votes for the British Benevolent Institution for Aged Women? I do so want to get my gardener's mother—There, go, go, dear! You had better not keep him waiting." And Katherine was gently propelled out of the room.

In truth, she was rather reluctant to face De Burgh, although she felt gratified and soothed by his taking the trouble to find her out.

Katherine found her visitor pacing up and down when she opened the drawing-room door, feeling vexed with herself for her changing color and the embarrassment she felt she displayed. De Burgh was looking taller and squarer than ever, but his dark face brightened so visibly as his eyes met Katherine's, that she felt a pang as she thought how unmoved she was herself.

"I thought you had escaped from sight!" he exclaimed, holding her hand for a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. "The first time I went to look for you in the old place, I was simply told you had left, by a stupid old woman who knew nothing. Then I called again and asked for Miss—you know whom I mean; she is rather a brick, and told me all about you. In the mean time I met Mrs. Ormonde. I was determined not to ask her anything—she is such a selfish little devil. Now here I am face to face with you at last." And he drew a chair opposite her, and was silent for a minute, gazing with a wistful look in her face.

"You have not a very high opinion of my sister-in-law," said Katherine, beginning as far away from themselves as she could.

"She is an average woman," he said, shortly. "But tell me, what is the matter with you? I did not think you were the sort of girl to break your heart over the loss of a fortune."

"But I have not broken my heart!" she exclaimed, somewhat startled by his positive tone.

"There's a look of pain in your eyes, a despondency in your very figure; don't you think I know every turn of you? Well, I won't say more if it annoys you. We have changed places, Katherine—I mean Miss Liddell. Fortune has given me a turn at last, and I have been tremendously busy. I had no idea how troublesome it is to be rich. There are compensations, however. This doesn't seem a bad sort of place"—looking round at the crowd of china and bric-a-brac ornaments and the comfortable chairs. "How did you come here, and what has been settled? Don't think me impertinent or intrusive; you know you agreed we should be friends, and you must not send me adrift!"

"Thank you, Lord de Burgh. I am sure you could be a very loyal friend. My story is very short." And she gave him a brief sketch of how her affairs had been arranged.

"By George! Ormonde is a mean sneak. To think of his leaving those boys on your hands! and he has plenty of money. I happen to know that his wife has been dabbling in the stocks, and turned some money too. Now where did she get the cash to do it with but from him? So I suppose you intend to starve yourself in order to educate the poor little chaps?"

"Oh no. On the contrary, I am living on the fat of the land, with the kindest mistress in the world."

"Mistress! Great heavens! Why will you persist in such a life?"

"My dear Lord de Burgh, don't you know that it is not always easy to judge or to act for another?

"Which means I am to mind my own business?"

"You have a very unvarnished style of stating facts."

"I know I have." A short pause, and he began again. "Where are those boys now?

"At Sandbourne. But, alas! I am going to take them away to-morrow. They are going to a school at Wandsworth."

"Going down to Sandbourne to-morrow? Is Miss Payne going with you?"

"Oh no; I don't need any one."

"Nonsense! you can't go about alone. I'll meet you at the station and escort you there."

Katherine laughed. "I am afraid that would never do. You have increased in importance and I have diminished, till the distance between our respective stations has widened far too much to permit of familiar intercourse, or—"

"I never thought I should hear you talking such rubbish. What difference can there be between us, except that you are a good woman and I am not a good man? I don't think it's quite fair that on our first meeting after ages—at least quite two months of separation—you should talk in this satirical way."

"I speak the words of truth and soberness, Lord de Burgh."

"Perhaps. I can't quite make you out. I am certain you have been in worse trouble than even want of money. I wish you'd confide in me. That's the right word, isn't it? Do you know, I can be very true to my friends, and silent as the grave. I could tell you everything."

"Thank you. I am sure you could be a faithful friend."

"Do you ever see Errington?" asked De Burgh, changing the subject abruptly.

"Oh yes. He often comes here."

"Indeed? To see you, or Mrs.—what's her name?"

"To see Mrs. Needham," returned Katherine, smiling.

"Hum! I suppose he has a taste for mature beauty?"

"I do not know. At all events Mrs. Needham knows charming girls—enough to suit all tastes, and Mr. Errington—"

"Is too superior a fellow to be influenced by such attractions, eh?" put in De Burgh.

"I am not so sure;" and she laughed merrily. "I think there is one fair lady for whom he is inclined to forego his philosophic tranquility."

"Ha! I thought so. Yourself?"

"Me! No, indeed! A young lady of high attainments and a large fortune."

"Indeed? I am glad of it. He must be awfully hard up, poor devil!"

"Mr. Errington can never be poor," cried Katherine, offended by the disparaging epithet. "He carries his fortune in his brain."

"Well, I am exceedingly thankful I carry mine in my pocket," returned De Burgh, laughing. "Evidently Errington can do no wrong in your eyes. Let us wish him success in his wooing. So I am not to be your escort to Sandbourne? You ought to let me be your courier, I have knocked about so much. I thought I'd take to the road in the modern sense, when I came to my last sou, if the poor old lord had not died. Now I am going to be a pattern man as landlord, peer, and sportsman. Can't give up that, you know."

"I do not see why you should."

"I see you are looking at the clock; that means I am staying too long. You don't know how delightful it is to sit here talking to you, without any third person to bore us."

"I don't mean to be rude, Lord de Burgh, but you see I have letters to write for my chief."

"The deuce you have! It is too awful to see you in slavery."

"Very pleasant, easy slavery."

"So this chief of yours gives parties, receptions, at homes. Why doesn't she ask me?"

"I am sure she would if she knew of your existence."

"Do you mean to say you have never mentioned me to her, nor enlarged upon my many delightful and noble qualities?"

"I am ashamed to say I have not."

Lord de Burgh rose slowly and reluctantly. "Are you going to bring the boys here?"

"No; Miss Payne has most kindly invited them to stay with her. As yet she has not found any one to replace me. Poor little souls, I shall be glad when their holidays are over, for I fear they are not the same joy to Miss Payne as they are to me."

"Ah! believe me, you want some help in bringing up a couple of boys. Just fancy what Cis will be six or seven years hence. Why, he'll play the devil if he hasn't a strong hand over him."

"I don't believe it!" cried Katherine, smiling. "Why should he be worse than other boys?"

"Why should he be better?"

"Well, I can but do my best for them," said Katherine with a sigh.

"I am a brute to prophesy evil, when you have enough to contend with already," cried De Burgh, taking her hand, and looking into her eyes with an expression she could not misunderstand.

"You must not exaggerate my troubles," returned Katherine, with a sweet bright smile on her lips and in her eyes that thanked him for his sympathy, even while she gently withdrew her hand.

"I wish you would let me help you," said De Burgh; and as her lips parted to reply, he went on, hastily: "No, no; don't answer—not yet, at least. You will only say something disagreeable, in spite of your charming lips. Now I'll not intrude on you any longer. I suppose there is no objection to my calling on the young gentlemen at Miss Payne's, and taking them to a circus, or Madame Tussaud's, or any other dissipation suited to their tender years?"

"My dear Lord de Burgh, what an infliction for you! and how very good of you to think of them! Pray do not trouble about them."

"I understand," said De Burgh. "I'll leave my card for your chief below; and be sure you don't forget me when you are sending out cards. By-the-way, I have a pressing invitation to Castleford. When I write to refuse I'll say I have seen you, and that I am going to take charge of the boys during the holidays."

"No, no; pray do not, Lord de Burgh," cried Katherine, eagerly. "You know Ada, and—"

"Are you ashamed to have me as a coadjutor?" interrupted De Burgh, laughing. "Trust me; I will be prudent. Good-by for the present."

Katherine stood in silent thought for a few moments after he had gone. She fully understood the meaning of his visit; though there had been little or nothing of the lover in his tone. He had come as soon as possible to place himself and all he had at her disposal. He was perfectly sincere in his desire to win her for his wife, and she almost regretted she could not return his affection: it might be true affection—something beyond and above the dominant whim of an imperious nature. And what a solution to all her difficulties! But it was impossible she could overcome the repulsion which the idea of marriage with any man she did not love inspired. There was to her but one in the world to whom she could hold allegiance, and he was forbidden by all sense of self-respect and modesty. How was it that, strive as she might to fill her mind to his exclusion, the moment she was off guard the image of Errington rose up clear and fresh, pervading heart and imagination, and dwarfing every other object?

"How miserably, contemptibly weak I am, and have always been! Why did I not stifle this wretched, overpowering attraction in the beginning?" Ay! but when did it begin?

This is a sort of question no heart can answer. Who can foresee that the tiny spring, forcing its way up among the stones and heather of a lonely hill-side, will grow into the broad river, which may carry peace and prosperity on its rolling tide to the lands below, or overwhelm them with destructive floods, according to the forces which feed it and the barriers which hedge it in?