It was a bleak, blowy day when Katherine took the boys to school, and on returning she went straight to Miss Payne, who had promised to have tea ready for her.

Somewhat to her regret, she found only Bertie Payne, who explained that his sister had been called away about some business connected with a lady with whom she was trying to come to terms respecting her house, which she had now decided on letting.

"And how did you part with the boys?" he asked when he had given her a cup of tea and brought her the most comfortable chair.

"It was very hard to leave them," returned Katherine, whose eyes looked suspiciously like recently shed tears. "The place did not look half so nice to-day as I thought it was. Everything is rough and ready. The second master, too, is a harsh, severe-looking man. Of course he has not much authority; still, had I seen him, I do not think I should have agreed to send Cis and Charlie there; but now I am committed to a quarter. I cannot afford to indulge whims, and, at all events, they are within an easy distance. Charlie looked so white, and clung to me as if he would never let me go! How hard life is!"

"This portion of it is, and wisely so. We must set our affections on things above. I have been learning this lesson of late as I never thought I should have to learn it."

"You?—you who are so good, so unworldly? Oh, Mr. Payne, what do you mean? You are looking ill and worn."

"I have been fighting a battle of late," he returned, with his sweet, patient smile, "and I have conquered. The right road has been shown to me, the right way, and I am determined to walk in it."

"What are you going to do?" asked Katherine, with a feeling of alarm.

"I am going to take orders, and join the missionary ranks, either in India or China. Work in England was growing too easy—too heavenly sweet—to be any longer saving to my own soul."

"But Mr. Payne, don't you see that your own poor country people have the first claim upon you—that you are leaving a work for which you are so wonderfully well suited, in which you are so successful? Oh, do think! Here you leave people of your own race, whose wants, whose characters you can understand, to run away to creatures of another climate—a different stock—whose natures, in my opinion, unfit them for a faith such as ours, and who never, never will accept our religion!"

"Hush!" cried Payne, in an excited tone. "Do not torture me by showing the appalling gulf which separates us. Strange that a heart so tender as yours to all mere human miseries should yet be adamant against the Saviour's loving touch. This has been my cruel cross, and my only safety lies in flight, wretched man that I am!"

"I am dreadfully distressed about you, Mr. Payne. Does your sister know? It is really unkind to her."

"That must not weigh with me. Even if the right hand offends you, 'cut it off,' is the command."

"At all events, you must study, or go though some preparation, before you are ordained, and perhaps in that interval you may change your views. I do hope you will. I should be indeed sorry to lose sight of a true friend like yourself."

"A friend!" he returned, his brow contracting as if with pain. "You do not know the depths of my selfishness——"

The entrance of Miss Payne interrupted the conversation, and Bertie immediately changing the subject, Katherine understood that he did not as yet intend to speak to his sister of his new plans.

To Miss Payne, Katherine had again to describe her parting with her nephews, and she, in her turn, talked comfortably of her affairs. She thought of going abroad for a short time should she let her house, as nothing very eligible offered in the shape of a young lady to chaperon. Indeed she was somewhat tired of that sort of life, etc., etc. At length Katherine bade them adieu, and returned to her present abode with a very sad heart.

The parting with her nephews had been a sore trial. The idea of Bertie, her kind friend, whose sympathetic companionship had helped her so much to overcome the poignancy of her first grief for her dear mother, going away to banishment, and perhaps death, at the hands of those whose souls he went to save, caused her the keenest pain; and for nearly a fortnight she had not seen Errington! She could not bring herself to ask where he was, and no one had happened to mention him. This was really better. His absence should be a help to forgetfulness; but somehow it was not. He was so vividly before her eyes; his voice sounded so perpetually in her heart.

Why could she not think thus of De Burgh, whose devotion to her was evident, and whom, in spite of herself as it seemed, she was, to a certain degree, encouraging?

She felt unutterably helpless and oppressed. Moreover, she was distressed by the consciousness that the small reserve fund which she had with difficulty preserved, could barely meet unexpected demands such as removing the boys from school, if necessary, an attack of illness, a dozen contingencies, any or all of which were possible, if not imminent.

Such a mood made her feel peculiarly unfit to shine at Mrs. Needham's reception. Still it was better to be obliged to talk and to think about others than to brood perpetually on her own troubles. So she arrayed herself in one of the pretty soft grey demi-toilette dresses which remained among her well-stocked wardrobe, and prepared to assist her chief in receiving her guests, who soon flocked in so rapidly as to make separate receptions impossible. Miss Bradley came early, arrayed in white silk and lace with diamond stars in her coronet of thickly-plaited red hair. She was looking radiantly well—so well and unusually animated that her aspect struck sudden terror into Katherine's heart; something had gladdened her heart to give that expression of joyous softness to her eyes. But it was weak and contemptible to let this sudden fear overmaster her, so she strove to be amused and interested in the conversation of those she knew, and her acquaintance had increased enormously since she came to reside with Mrs. Needham.

Presently Katherine caught sight of a stately head above the general level of the crowd, and a pair of grave eyes evidently seeking something. Who was Errington looking for? Miss Bradley, of course! As she arrived at this conclusion, De Burgh appeared at the head of the stairs, looking, as he always did, extremely distinguished—his dark strong face showing in remarkable contrast to the simpering young minstrels, pale young poets, and long-haired professors who formed the larger half of the male guests.

"Well, Miss Liddell, are you quite well and flourishing? Why, it is quite three days since I saw you," he asked, and his eyes dwelt on her with a look of utter restful satisfaction—a look that disturbed her.

"Is it, indeed? They seem all rolled into a single disagreeable one to me."

"Tell me all about it," said De Burgh, in a low confidential tone. "Must you stand here in the gangway? it's awfully hot and crowded."

Before she could reply, Errington forced his way through the crowd, and addressed her.

"I began to fear I should not find you, Miss Liddell," he said, with a pleasant smile. "I have been away for some time—though perhaps you were not aware of it."

"I was aware we did not see you as frequently as usual. Where have you been?"

"On a secret and delicate mission which taxed all my diplomatic skill, for I had to deal with an extremely crotchetty Scotchman."

"You make me feel desperately curious," said Katherine, languidly.

"How do you do, Errington?" put in De Burgh. "I heard of you in Edinburgh last week;" and they exchanged a few words. Then, to Katherine's annoyance, De Burgh said, with an air of proprietorship, "I am going to take Miss Liddell out of this mob, to have tea and air, if we can get any. I have to hear news, too," he added, significantly.

Errington grew very grave, and drew back immediately with a slight bow, as if he accepted a dismissal.

There was no help for it, so Katherine took De Burgh's offered arm and went downstairs.

"I wonder what the secret mission could have been?" said Katherine, when they found themselves in the tea-room.

"God knows! I wonder Errington did not go in for diplomacy when he smashed up. He is just the man for protocols, and solemn mysteries, and all that."

"Men cannot jump into diplomatic appointments, can they?"

"No, I suppose not. I hear some of Errington's political articles have attracted Lord G——'s notice; they say he'll be in Parliament one of these days. Well, he deserves to win, if that sort of thing be worth winning."

"Of course it is. Have you no ambition, Lord de Burgh? Were I a man, I should be very ambitious."

"I have no doubt you would; and if you had a husband you'd drive him up the ladder at the bayonet's point."

"Poor man! I pity him beforehand."

"I don't," returned De Burgh, shortly. "Do you know, I have just been dining with Ormonde and his wife, not as their guest, but at Lady Mary Vincent's. Tell me, hasn't he behaved rather badly to you? I want to know, because I don't want to cut him without reason."

"Pray do not cut him on my account, Lord de Burgh. Colonel Ormonde has very naturally, for a man of his calibre, felt disgusted at my inability to carry out my original arrangements respecting my nephews, and he showed his displeasure, after his kind, with remarkable frankness; but I am not the least angry, and I beg you will make no difference for my sake."

"If you really wish it—" he paused, and then went on—"Mrs. Ormonde whined a good deal to me in a corner about her affection for you, her hard fate, Ormonde's brutality, etc., etc.; she is a rusee little devil."

"Poor Ada! I fancy she has not had a pleasant time of it. Had she been a woman of feeling, it would have been too dreadful...."

"Well, you make your mind easy on that score. Now, what about the boys?"

Katherine was vexed to find how impossible it was to talk of them with composure; she was unhinged in some unaccountable way, and Lord de Burgh's ill-repressed tenderness made her feel nervous. At length she asked him to come upstairs and look for Mrs. Needham, as her head ached, and she thought she would like to retire if she could be spared.

"Yes, you had better—you don't seem up to much," he returned, pressing her hand slightly against his side. "I can't bear to see you look worried and ill. That's not a civil speech, I suppose; but, ill or well, you know your face is always the sweetest to me, and I am always dying to know what you are thinking of. There, I will not worry you now; but shall you be 'fit' for this function on Sunday?"

"Oh, yes, quite."

"I am obliged to run down to Wales—some matters there want the master's eye, they tell me—but I shall return Friday or Saturday. By the way, I wish you would introduce me to this wonderful Angela of Mrs. Needham's."

"Certainly."

On entering the drawing-room, the first forms that met their eyes were Errington and Miss Bradley; she was sitting in a large crimson velvet chair, against the back of which Errington was leaning. Angela was looking up at him with a peculiarly happy, absorbed expression, while his head was bent towards her.

"She is deucedly handsome," said De Burgh, critically, "and much too pleasantly engaged to be interrupted. I can wait."

"Yes, I think it would be unkind to break in on such a conversation. Oh, here is Mrs. Needham! Do you want me very much, Mrs. Needham? because, if not, I should like to go to bed. I have a tiresome headache."

"Go by all means, my dear; you are looking like a ghost; they are all talking and amusing each other now, and don't want you or me." "Good night, then," said Katherine, giving her hand to De Burgh, and she glided away.

"What a lot she takes out of herself!" said De Burgh, looking after her.

"She does indeed," cried Mrs. Needham; "she is so unselfish. I hate to see her worried. I wonder if he has proposed?" she thought.

"I think he is pretty far gone. Now pray don't run away just now; Merrydew is going to give one of his musical sketches, and then I want to introduce you to Professor Gypsum. He thinks there ought to be a rich coal seam on your South Wales property; he is a most intelligent, accomplished man."

"Very well—with pleasure," said De Burgh, complacently.

It was rather a relief to be quite sure that De Burgh was safe out of the way for a few days. His presence always disturbed her with a mixed sense of pain and self-reproach. He gave her no opening to warn him off, yet she felt that he lost no opportunity of pushing his mines up to the defences; and she liked him—liked him sincerely—always believing there was much undeveloped goodness under his rough exterior.

Sunday came quickly, for the intervening days had been very fully occupied, and thus Katherine had been saved from too much thought of the boys and their possible trials.

It was a soft, lovely spring day. The lilacs and laburnums had put on their ball-dresses for the season, and there was a fresh, youthful feeling in the air. The villa of which Angela was the happy mistress was one of the few old places standing on the edge of the common at Wimbledon, and boasting mossy green lawns, huge cedar trees, and delightful shrubberies, paths leading through a well-disposed patch of plantation, and a fine view from the windows of the deep red-brick mansion, with its copings, window-heads, and pediments of white stone.

Katherine started with a brave determination to throw off dull care and enjoy herself, if possible—why should she not? Life had many sides, and, though the present was gloomy, there was no reason why its clouds should not hide bright sunshine which lay awaiting the future. She had manoeuvred that Mrs. Needham should join an elderly couple of their acquaintance in an open carriage, and so avoided appearing in Lord de Burgh's elegant equipage.

The grounds were already dotted with gaily dressed groups; for, although there were no formally invited guests, Miss Bradley's Sundays were largely attended by her extensive circle of acquaintance, and this first Sabbath of really fine spring weather brought a larger number than usual.

"I am glad you put on that pretty black and white dress," whispered Mrs. Needham, as they alighted and went into the hall. "I see everyone is in their best bibs and tuckers;—isn't it a lovely house! Ah! many a poor author's brain has paid toll to provide all this."

"I suppose so."

"Miss Bradley is in the conservatory," said a polite butler, and into a deliciously fragrant conservatory they were ushered.

"Very glad to see you, Miss Liddell," said Angela, kindly, when she had greeted Mrs. Needham. "This is your first visit to the Court. Do you know I wanted to ask you to come down to us for a few days; but, when I looked for you at Mrs. Needham's the other night, you had vanished, and since I have been so much taken up, as I will explain later, that I have been quite unable to write. I hope you will manage to pay us a visit next week; the air here is most reviving."

"You are too good, Miss Bradley," returned Katherine, touched by her kind tone. "If Mrs. Needham can spare me, I shall of course be delighted to come;" and she resolved mentally that she should not be spared.

"Major Urquhart," continued Miss Bradley, turning to a very tall, thin, soldierly-looking man, who might once have been fair, but was now burnt to brickdust hue, with long tawny moustache and thick overhanging eyebrows of the same color, "pray take Miss Liddell round the grounds, and show her my favorite fernery."

Major Urquhart bowed low and presented his arm.

"I see," continued Angela, "that Mrs. Needham is already absorbed by a dozen dear friends."

"You have not been here before," said Major Urquhart, in a deep hollow voice.

"Never."

"Charming place! immensely improved since I went to India five years ago."

"Miss Bradley has great taste," remarked Katherine.

"Wonderful—astonishing; she has made all this fernery since I was here last."

Then there was a long pause, and a few more sentences expressive of admiration were exchanged, and somehow Katherine began to feel that her companion was rather bored and preoccupied, so she turned her steps towards the house, intending to release him.

At the further side of the fernery, in a pretty path between green banks, they suddenly met Errington face to face.

"Miss Bradley wants you, Urquhart," he said, as soon as they had exchanged salutations. "You may leave Miss Liddell in my charge, if she will permit." Major Urquhart bowed himself off, and Errington continued, "You would not suspect that was a very distinguished officer."

"I don't know; he seems very silent and inanimate."

"Well, I assure you he is a very fine fellow, and did great deeds in the Mutiny. But come, the lawn is looking quite picturesque in the sunshine, with the groups of people scattered about. It would be perfect were it sleeping in the tranquil silence of a restful Sabbath day."

"Are you not something of a hermit in your tastes?" asked Katherine, looking up at him with one of her sunny smiles.

"By no means. I like the society of my fellow-men, but I like a spell of solitude every now and then, as a rest and refreshment on the dusty road of life."

"I begin to think peace the greatest boon heaven can bestow."

"Yes, after the late vicissitudes, it must seem to you the greatest good. Let us sit down under this cedar; there is a pretty peep across the common to the blue distance. We might be a hundred miles from London, everything is so calm."

They sat silent for a few moments, a sense of peace and safety stealing over Katherine's heart.

Suddenly Errington turned to her, and said,

"Our friend De Burgh can scarcely know himself in his new condition."

"He seems remarkably at home, however. I hope he will distinguish himself as an enlightened and benevolent legislator."

"He must be a good deal changed if he does. You have seen a great deal of him, I believe, since he returned to London?"

"I have seen him several times. He seems to get on with Mrs. Needham."

"With Mrs. Needham?" repeated Errington, in a slightly mocking tone, and elevating his eyebrows in a way that made Katherine blush for her uncandid remark.

"Well, Mrs. Needham seems to have taken immensely to him."

"I can understand that. De Burgh has wherewithal now to recommend him to most party-giving dowagers."

"That speech is not like you, Mr. Errington; you know my dear good chief is utterly uninfluenced by worldly considerations. Lord de Burgh has been very good and helpful to me with the boys, I assure you," said Katherine, feeling that she changed color under Errington's watchful eyes.

"Yes, I have no doubt he could be boundlessly kind where he wishes to please—more, I think he is a generous fellow; but—I am going to be ill-natured," he said, with a slight change of tone, "and, as you have allowed me the privilege of a friend, I must beg you to reflect that De Burgh is a man of imperious temper, given to somewhat reckless seeking of what he desires, and not too steady in his attachments. Though in every sense a man of honor, and by no means without heart, yet I fear as a companion he would be disturbing, if not——"

"Why do you warn me?" cried Katherine, growing somewhat pale. "And what has poor Lord de Burgh done to earn your disapprobation?"

"I know I am somewhat Quixotic and unguarded in speaking thus to you; but it would be affectation to say I did not perceive De Burgh's very natural motive. There is much about him that is attractive to women, apart from his exceptional fortune and position; but I doubt if he could make a woman like you happy. If the ease and luxury he could bestow ever prove tempting, I do not think that anything except sincere affection would enable you to surmount the difficulty of dealing with a character like his."

While Errington spoke with quiet but impressive earnestness, a perverse spirit entered into Katherine Liddell. Here was this man, sailing triumphantly on the crest of good fortune, about to ally himself to a woman, good, certainly, and suited to him, but also rich enough to set him above all care and money troubles, urging counsels of perfection on her. Why was she to be advised to reject a man who certainly loved her by one who only felt a temperate and condescending friendship for her? How could he judge what amount of influence De Burgh's affection for herself might give her?

"I ought to feel deeply grateful to you for overstepping the limits of conventionality in order to give me what is, no doubt, sound advice."

"Do you mean that as a rebuke?" asked Errington, leaning a little forward to look into her eyes. "Do you not think that a friendship, founded as ours is on most exceptional and unconventional circumstances, gives me a sort of right to speak of matters which may prove of the last importance to you? You cannot realize how deeply interested I am in your welfare, how ardently I desire your happiness."

The sincerity of his tone thrilled Katherine with pain and pleasure. It was delightful to hear him speak thus, yet it would be better for her never to hear his voice again.

"I daresay I am petulant," she said, looking down, "and you are generally right; but don't you think in this case you are looking too far ahead, and attributing motives to Lord de Burgh of which he may be entirely innocent?"

"Of that you are the best judge," returned Errington, coldly; and silence fell upon them—a silence which Katherine felt to be so awkward that she rose, saying,

"I must find Mrs. Needham; she will wonder where I am;" and, Errington making no objection, they strolled slowly towards the front of the house, where most of the visitors were standing or sitting about.

There they soon discovered Mrs. Needham, in lively conversation with Lord de Burgh, who was a good deal observed by those present as his name and position were well known to almost all of Mrs. Needham's set. He turned quickly to greet Katherine, and spoke not too cordially to Errington, who after some talk with Mrs. Needham, quietly withdrew, and kept rather closely to Angela's side.

The rest of the afternoon was spoiled for Katherine by a sense of irritation with Lord de Burgh, who scarcely left her, thereby making her so conspicuous that she could hardly refrain from telling him.

"What is the matter with you?" asked De Burgh, as they walked, together behind Mrs. Needham to the gate where their carriage awaited them. "Do you know you have hardly said a civil word to me—what have I done?"

"You are mistaken! I never meant to be uncivil, I am only tired, and I have rather a headache."

"You often have headaches. Are you sure the ache is in your head?"

"No, I am not," said Katherine, frankly. "Don't you know what it is to be out of sorts?"

"Don't I, though? If that's what ails you I can understand you well enough. I wish you would let me prescribe for you: a nice long wandering through Switzerland, over some old passes into Italy (they are more delicious than ever, now that they are deserted), and then a winter in Rome."

"Thank you," returned Katherine, laughing. "Perhaps you might also recommend horse exercise on an Arab steed."

"Yes, I should. You would look stunning in a habit."

"Dreams, idle dreams, Lord de Burgh. I shall be all right to-morrow."

"I intend to come and see you if you are," he returned, significantly.

"To-morrow I shall be out all the afternoon," said Katherine, quickly.

"Some other day then," he replied, with resolution.

"Good-morning, Lord de Burgh, or rather good evening, for it is seven o'clock," said Mrs. Needham. "Charming place, isn't it?"

"Very nice, indeed. I suppose I have the freedom of the house now, through your favor."

"Certainly; good-bye, come and see us soon."

"May I?" he whispered, as he handed Katherine into the carriage.

She smiled and shook her head, looking so sweet and arch that De Burgh could not help pressing her hand hard as he muttered something of which she could only catch the word "mischief."

"Well," said Mrs. Needham, when they had left the villa behind, and she had succeeded in wrapping a woollen scarf closely round her throat, for the evening had grown chill, "I knew I was right all along, and now old Bradley himself has as good as told me that Angela is engaged to Errington."

"Indeed!" said the lady, who shared their conveyance. "What did he say?"

"He was sitting with me on the lawn, and Miss Bradley went past between Errington and that tall military-looking man, who did not seem to know anyone; so I just remarked what a distinguished sort of person Mr. Errington was, and Bradley, looking after him in an exulting sort of way, said, "Distinguished! I believe you. That man, ma-am," (you know his style) "will be in the front rank before long. I recognized his power from the first, and, what's more, so did Angela. I am going to give a proof of my confidence in him that will astonish everyone; you'll hear of it in a week or two." Now what can that mean but that he is going to trust his daughter to him? You see, Errington is like a son of the house. I am heartily glad, for I have reason to know that he has been greatly attached to her a considerable time, and they are admirably suited."

"Well! he is a very lucky fellow; independent of all the money Bradley has made, this new magazine of his is a splendid property."

And Katherine, listening in silence, told herself that one chapter of her life was closed for ever.