“Don’t be angry; and do pray remember that the Divorce allows you and Catherine to marry again, if you like.”

Herbert became more unreasonable than ever.  “If Catherine does think of marrying again,” he said, “the man will have to reckon first with me.  But that is not the point.  You seem to have forgotten that the woman at Buck’s Hotel is described as a Widow.  The bare doubt that my divorced wife might be the woman was bad enough—­but what I wanted to find out was how she had passed off her false pretense on our child. That was what maddened me!  No more of it now.  Have you seen Catherine lately?”

“Not lately.”

“I suppose she is as handsome as ever.  When will you ask her to let me see Kitty?”

“Leave that to me,” was the one reply which Randal could venture to make at the moment.

The serious embarrassments that surrounded him were thickening fast.  His natural frank nature urged him to undeceive Herbert.  If he followed his inclinations, in the near neighborhood of the hotel, who could say what disasters might not ensue, in his brother’s present frame of mind?  If he made the disclosure on their return to the house, he would be only running the same risk of consequences, after an interval of delay; and, if he remained silent, the march of events might, at any moment, lead to the discovery of what he had concealed.  Add to this, that his confidence in Catherine had been rudely shaken.  Having allowed herself to be entrapped into the deception proposed by her mother, and having thus far persevered in that deception, were the chances in favor of her revealing her true position—­especially if she was disposed to encourage Bennydeck’s suit?  Randal’s loyalty to Catherine hesitated to decide that serious question against the woman whom he had known, trusted, and admired for so many years.  In any event, her second marriage would lead to one disastrous result.  It would sooner or later come to Herbert’s ears.  In the meantime, after what Mrs. Presty had confessed, the cruel falsehood which had checked poor Kitty’s natural inquiries raised an insuperable obstacle to a meeting between father and child.

If Randal shrank from the prospect which thus presented itself to him, in his relations with his brother, and if his thoughts reverted to Sydney Westerfield, other reasons for apprehension found their way into his mind.

He had promised to do his best toward persuading Catherine to grant Sydney an interview.  To perform that promise appeared to be now simply impossible.  Under the exasperating influence of a disappointment for which she was not prepared, it was hard to say what act of imprudence Sydney might not commit.  Even the chance of successfully confiding her to Bennydeck’s protection had lost something of its fair promise, since Randal’s visit to Sydenham.  That the Captain would welcome his friend’s daughter as affectionately as if she had been his own child,