pause, "is from my new tenant; he wants some
additional furniture, which is just nonsense. He has as much as is good
for him; I'll write and say I shall be in town on Monday, and call at
Wilton Street to discuss matters."

"_Are_ you going to town on Monday?"

"Yes, I made up my mind when I read this," tapping the letter.

"I suppose you don't object to be left alone? And there is the chance of
Mrs. Needham coming down; probably she will stay over Monday."

"I fear that is not very likely."

No more was said on the subject then, but Katherine could not get her
mind free from the idea of George Liddell's anticipated visit. She was
quite willing to make friends with him, though his ungenerous and
unreasonable conduct towards herself had impressed her most
unfavorably.

The day passed over, however, without any visitor, nor was it until the
following afternoon that Katherine was startled, in spite of her
preparation, by the announcement that a gentleman wished to see Miss
Liddell.

"I'll go," exclaimed Miss Payne, gathering up her knitting and a book,
and she vanished swiftly in spite of rheumatic difficulties.

In another moment George Liddell stood before his dispossessed
kinswoman, a tall, gaunt figure with grizzled hair and sunken eyes. He
took the hand she offered in silence, and then exclaimed, abruptly,

"You knew I was coming?"

"Yes, Rachel Trant told me. Will you not sit down?"

He drew a chair beside her work-table, and looking at her for a minute
exclaimed, in harsh tones which yet showed emotion,

"You are a good woman!"

"How have you found that out?" asked Katherine, smiling.

"I will answer by a long, cruel story!" he returned with a sigh; "a
story I would tell to none but you." Again he paused, looking down as if
collecting his thoughts, while the brown, bony, sinewy hand he laid on
the table was tightly clenched. "You knew my father," he began, suddenly
raising his dark suspicious eyes to her, "and therefore can understand
what an exacting tyrant he could be to those who were in his power. As a
mere child I feared him and shrank from him; my earliest recollection
was of my mother's care in keeping me from him. He was not violent to
her--I don't suppose he ever struck her, but he treated her with cold
contempt, why, I never understood, except that she cost him money, and
brought him none. I won't unman myself by describing what her life was,
or how passionately I loved her; we clung to eac