it."

"But what--what will become of _you?_" she asked, with strange
familiarity, the outcome of strong excitement which carried her over all
conventional limits.

"Oh, I have had some training in the world both of men and books, and I
hope to be able to keep the wolf from the door."

"Would you not accept part at least--a sum of money, you know, to begin
something?" asked Katherine, her voice quivering, her nerves relaxing
from their high tension, and feeling utterly beaten, her high resolves
of sacrifice and renunciation tumbling about her, like a house of cards,
at the touch of common-sense.

"I do not think any arrangements of the kind practicable," returned
Errington, with a kind smile. "I understand your eagerness to relieve
your conscience by an act of restitution, but now you are exonerated. I
ask nothing but that you should forgive yourself, and knit up the
ravelled web of your life. The fortune ought to be yours--is
yours--shall be yours."

"Will you promise that if you ever want help--money help--you will ask
me? I shall have more money every year, for I shall never spend my
income."

"I shall not want help," he returned, quietly. "But though it is not
likely we shall meet again, believe me I shall always be glad to know
you are well and happy. Let this painful conversation be the last we
have on this subject. For my part, I grant you plenary absolution."

"You are good and generous; you are wise too; your judgment constrains
me. Yet I hope I shall _never_ see you again. It is too humiliating to
meet your eyes." She spoke brokenly as she tied the white veil closely
over her face.

"Nevertheless we part friends," said Errington, and held out his hand.
She put hers in it. He felt how it trembled, and held it an instant with
a friendly pressure. Then he opened the door and followed her to the
entrance, where he bowed low as she passed out.

Errington returned at once to his writing-table and his calculations. He
took up his pen, but he did not begin to write. He leaned back in his
chair and fell into an interesting train of thought. What an
extraordinary mad proceeding it was of that girl to conceal the will! It
was strangely unprincipled. "How impossible it is to trust a person who
acts from impulse! The difference between masculine and feminine
character is immense. No man with a grain of honor in him would have
done what she did; only some dastardly hound who could cheat at cards.
And she--somehow