urious to hear the
story you have to tell." Then, as Katherine sat down where the
lamp-light fell upon her face, she added, "But you are not looking well,
Miss Liddell; your eyes look heavy; your mouth is sad."

"I am troubled, more than sad," said Katherine; "the why and wherefore I
have come to tell you."

"Yes; tell me everything." And Rachel took a low seat opposite her
guest; her usually pale face was slightly flushed, her large blue eyes
darkened with the pleasure of seeing the friend she loved so warmly and
the interest with which she awaited her disclosure, and as Katherine
looked at her she realized how pretty and attractive she must have been
before the fresh grace of her girlhood had been withered by the cruel
fires of passion and despair. "I am listening," said Rachel, gently, to
recall her visitor, whose thoughts were evidently far away.

"Yes; I had forgotten." And Katherine began her story.

Rachel Trant listened with rapt, intense attention, nor did she
interrupt the narrative by a single question.

When Katherine ceased to speak she remained silent for a second or two
longer: then she asked, "Are you convinced of the truth of this man's
story?"

"I am, for Mr. Newton does not seem to have a doubt. Oh! he is my uncle
John's only son--only child, indeed--and he is like him. I always
fancied from the little my uncle said about George that he was naturally
kind and sympathetic, but he has had a hard life, and it has made him
hard. The loss of his mother was a terrible misfortune."

"Was he young when she died?"

"He was about fourteen, I think; but he lost her by a worse misfortune
than death. She was driven away by my uncle's severity and harshness;
she left him for another."

"What! left her son?"

"Yes--it seems incredible--nor does my cousin resent her desertion. On
the contrary, all the affection and softness in him appears to centre
round his daughter and the memory of his mother."

"Then," said Rachel, "if this man persists in demanding his rights, you
will be beggared, and those dear boys must go back to their mother. They
will not be too welcome."

"Oh no! no! I feel that only too keenly."

"But you will not be penniless nor homeless," cried Rachel. "He cannot
touch this house. You made it over to me, and I will use it for you.
There are two nice rooms I can arrange for you upstairs. I am doing
well, and if I had but a little more capital, I should not fear; I
should not doubt maki