eft her. At the
further end of the path which led to the hotel, he thought he saw a
figure in the twilight, approaching from the house. There would be help
near, if Catherine wanted it.

His uneasy mind was in some degree relieved, as he and Kitty left the
garden together.

Chapter XLV. Love Your Enemies.

She tried to think of Bennydeck.

Her eyes followed him as long as he was in sight, but her thoughts
wandered. To look at him now was to look at the little companion walking
by his side. Still, the child reminded her of the living father; still,
the child innocently tortured her with the consciousness of deceit. The
faithless man from whom the law had released her, possessed himself of
her thoughts, in spite of the law. He, and he only, was the visionary
companion of her solitude when she was left by herself.

Did he remind her of the sin that he had committed?--of the insult that
he had inflicted on the woman whom he had vowed to love and cherish? No!
he recalled to her the years of love that she had passed by his side; he
upbraided her with the happiness which she had owed to him, in the prime
and glory of her life. Woman! set _that_ against the wrong which I have
done to you. You have the right to condemn me, and Society has the right
to condemn me--but I am your child's father still. Forget me if you can!

All thought will bear the test of solitude, excepting only the thought
that finds its origin in hopeless self-reproach. The soft mystery
of twilight, the solemn silence of the slowly-coming night, daunted
Catherine in that lonely place. She rose to return to light and human
beings. As she set her face toward the house, a discovery confronted
her. She was not alone.

A woman was standing on the path, apparently looking at her.

In the dim light, and at the distance between them, recognition of the
woman was impossible. She neither moved nor spoke. Strained to their
utmost point of tension, Catherine's nerves quivered at the sight of
that shadowy solitary figure. She dropped back on the seat. In tones
that trembled she said: "Who are you? What do you want?"

The voice that answered was, like her own voice, faint with fear. It
said: "I want a word with you."

Moving slowly forward--stopping--moving onward again--hesitating
again--the woman at last approached. There was light enough left to
reveal her face, now that she was near. It was the face of Sydney
Westerfield.

The survival of childhood