o be deceived,
if thereby it might be eased a little of suffering. Then, a nobler
spirit prevailing within her, Katherine rallied her fortitude. Better
he should be bound to her even by cynical avowal of projected vice,
than not bound at all. Listening now, she gained the right--a bitter
enough right--to command a measure of his confidence in those still
darker days which, as she apprehended, only too certainly lay ahead. So
she answered calmly:--

"Go on, Richard. As you say we may differ in the future. I may
disapprove, but I can be silent. You are right. It is better for us
both that I should hear."

And once more the young man was compelled to yield her a grudging
admiration. His tone softened somewhat.

"I don't like to see you stand, mother," he said. "Our conversation may
be prolonged. One never quite knows what may crop up. You will be
overtired. And to-morrow, when I am gone, there will be things to do."

Lady Calmady drew forward the chair from the end of the writing-table.
Her back was towards the lamp, her face in shadow. Of this she was
glad. In a degree it lessened the strain. The sweet, night air, coming
in at the open casements, fluttered the lace on her bodice, as with the
touch of a light, cool hand. Of this she was glad too. It was
refreshing, and she grew increasingly exhausted and physically weak.
Richard observed her, not without solicitude.

"I am afraid you are not well, mother," he said.

But Katherine shook her head, smiling upon him with misty eyes and lips
somewhat tremulous.

"I am always well," she replied. "Only to-night it has been given me to
scale heights and sound opposing depths, and I am a little overcome by
perplexity and by surprise. But what does that signify? I shall have
plenty of time--too much probably--in which to rest and range my ideas
when--you are gone, my dearest."

"You must not be here alone."

"Oh no! People will visit me, no doubt, animated by kindly wishes to
lessen my solitude," she answered, still smiling. Remembrance of
Honoria St. Quentin's letter came to her mind. Could it be that the
girl had some inkling of what was in store for her, and that this had
inspired the slight over-warmth of her protestations of
affection?--"Honoria would always be ready to come, should I ask her,"
she said.

All solicitude passed from Richard's expression, all softening from his
tone.

"By all means ask her. That would cap the climax, and round the irony
of the sit