mind.  Perhaps if he could show that he had still a solid capital, his engagement to Lady Alice need not be broken off.  If she could restore him to competence, he would not refuse some provision for the poor dear boys.  Were she secure on this point, she would be happier without the money than with it.  But the humiliation of confession—­and to such a father confessor?  How could she do it?  Yet it must be done.

“Good gracious, Katherine, you look like a ghost!” was Mrs. Ormonde’s salutation when the little party met at breakfast next morning.  “Pray have you seen one?”

“Yes; I have been surrounded by a whole gallery of ghosts all night—­which means that a bad conscience would not let me sleep.”

“What nonsense!  Why, you are a perfect saint, Kate, in some ways; but in others I must say you are foolish; yes, dear, I must say it—­very foolish.”

“I dare say I am,” returned Katherine; “but whether I am or not, I have an intense headache, so you must excuse me if I am very stupid.”

“I am sure you want change, Katherine.  Do come back with me to town.  There is quite time enough to put up all you want before 11, and the train goes at 11.10.  There is a little dance, ‘small and early’ at Lady Mary Vincent’s this evening, and I know she would be delighted to see you.”

“I do not think hot rooms the best cure for a headache,” observed Miss Payne; “and till yesterday Katherine had been looking remarkably well.  She was out boating too long in the sun.”

“You are very good to trouble about me, Ada.  My best cure is quiet.  I will go and lie down as soon as I see you off, and I dare say shall be myself again in the evening.  I may come up to town for a day or two before you return to Castleford, but I will let you know.”

Nothing more was said on the subject then, but when Katherine returned from the station after bidding her sister-in-law good-by, Miss Payne met her with a strong recommendation to take some “sal volatile and water, and to lie down at once.”

“I did not, of course, second Mrs. Ormonde’s suggestions—­the idea of your going for rest or health to her house!—­but I am really vexed to see you look so ill.  How do you feel?”

“Very well disposed to follow your good advice.  If I could get some sleep, I should be quite well.”  Katherine smiled pleasantly as she spoke.  She was extremely thankful to secure an hour or two of silence and solitude.

During the night her heart, her brain, were in such a tumult she could not think consecutively.  Alone in her room, and grown calmer, she could plan her future proceedings and screw her courage to the desperate sticking-point of action such as her conscience dictated.

She fastened her door and set her window wide open.  After gazing for some time at the sea, golden and glittering in the noonday sun, and inhaling the soft breeze which came in laden with briny freshness, she lay down and closed her eyes.  But though keeping profoundly still, no restful look of sleep stole over her set face; no, she was thinking hard, for how long she could not tell.  When, however, she came downstairs to join Miss Payne at tea, the anxious, nervous, alarmed expression of her eyes had changed to one of gloomy composure.