had drawn for a few moments!

"So that is Mr. Errington!" said Miss Payne, when the door had closed
upon him. "He has never been here before?" The tone was interrogative.

"Mr. Errington has some acquaintance with George Liddell," returned
Katherine, "and has very kindly done his best to dissuade him from
claiming the money I have expended."

"How very good of him! I am sure I trust he will succeed!" exclaimed
Miss Payne. "Now tell me how did Colonel Ormonde and your sister-in-law
behave?"

Whereupon Katherine recounted all that had been said. Many and cynical
were Miss Payne's remarks on the occasion, but Katherine scarcely heard
her. That Errington should take so deep an interest in her, should
persist in wishing to be her friend, was infinitely sweet and consoling.
He was transparently true, and she did not doubt for a moment that he
was sincere in all he said. Still she could not forget the sense of
humiliation his presence always inflicted. It was always delightful to
speak to him, and to hear him speak. What would she not give to be able
to stand upright before him and dare to assert herself? How silent and
dull and commonplace she must appear! not a bit natural or--She would
think no more of him. Why was his face ever before her eyes? She would
not be haunted in that way.

Here Bertie Payne's entrance created a diversion, which was most
welcome. He was looking white and ill, as though suffering from some
mental strain, Katherine observed, and then remembered that he had been
very silent and grave of late; but he replied cheerfully to her
inquiries, and exerted himself to do the agreeable during dinner, for
which he staid.

Katherine almost hoped for a summons from Mr. Newton next day, also for
some communication from Mrs. Ormonde, but none reached her. Still she
possessed her soul in patience, fortified by the recollection of her
interview with her new friend.

It was wet, and Katherine did not venture out, having a slight cold. She
tried to read, to write, to play, but she could not give her attention
to anything. It was an anxious crisis of her fate, and the sense of her
isolation pressed upon her more heavily than ever. She really had no
family ties. Friends were kind, but she had no claim on them or they on
her. Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde had ceased to exist for her. How would her
future life be colored? From consecutive thought she passed to vague
reverie, from which she was glad to be roused by the