ed the flow
of her sympathy to Rachel. There was something striking in the strength
that enabled her to tell such a tale with stern justice toward herself,
without any whining self-exculpation. What a long agony she must have
endured! Katherine's tears were ready to flow afresh at the picture her
warm imagination conjured up. Weak and guilty as Rachel was to yield to
such a temptation, what was her wrong-doing to that of the man who,
knowing what would be the end thereof, tempted her?

Castleford was an ordinary comfortable country house, standing in not
very extensive grounds. The scenery immediately around it was flat and
uninteresting, but a few miles to the south it became undulating, and
broken with pretty wooded hollows, but north of it was a rich level
district, and as a hunting country second only to Leicestershire.

Colonel Ormonde was a keen sportsman, and when he had reached his
present grade had gladly taken up his abode in the old place, which had
been let at a high rent during his term of military service. Castleford
was an old place, though the house was comparatively new. It had been
bought by Ormonde's grandfather, a rich manufacturer, who had built the
house and made many improvements, and his representative of the third
generation was considered quite one of the country gentry.

Colonel Ormonde was fairly popular. He was not obtrusively hard about
money matters, but he never neglected his own interests. Then he
appreciated a good glass of wine, and above all he rode straight. Mrs.
Ormonde was adored by the men and liked by the women of Clayshire
society, Colonel Ormonde being considered a lucky man to have picked up
a charming woman whose children were provided for.

That fortunate individual was sitting at breakfast _tete-a-tete_ with
his wife one dull foggy morning about a month after Katherine Liddell
had returned to England. "Another cup, please," he said, handing his in.
Mrs. Ormonde was deep in her letters. "What an infernal nuisance it is!"
he continued, looking out of the window nearest him. "The off days are
always soft and the 'meet' days hard and frosty. The scent would be
breast-high to-day." Mrs. Ormonde made no reply. "Your correspondence
seems uncommonly interesting!" he exclaimed, surprised at her silence.

"It is indeed," she cried, looking up with a joyful and exultant
expression of countenance. "Katherine writes that she has signed a deed
settling twenty thousand on Cis and Ch