sense of shame.  But withal, when I remember my disappointment, my utter inability to help my dear overtasked mother, round whom the net of difficulty, of debt, of fruitless work, was drawing closer and closer, I again feel the irresistible force of the temptation.  You, who are wise and strong and just, might have resisted; but”—­with a slight graceful gesture of humility—­“you see what I am.”

“If you had stopped to think!” Errington was beginning with unusual severity, for he was irritated by the confusion in his own mind, which was so different from his ordinary unhesitating decision between right and wrong.

“But when you love any one very much—­so entirely that you know every change of the dear face, the meaning even of the drooping hand or the bend of the weary head; when you know that a true brave heart is breaking under a load of care—­care for you, for your future, when it will no longer be near to watch over and uphold you—­and that no thought or tenderness or personal exertion can lift that load, only the magic of gold, why, you would do almost anything to get it.  Would you not if you loved like this?” concluded Katherine.  She had spoken rapidly and with fire.

“But I never have,” returned Errington, startled.

“Then,” said she, with some deliberation, “wisdom for you is from one entrance quite shut out.”  She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, and was very still during a pause, which Errington hesitated to break.

“It is no doubt lost breath to excuse myself to a man of your character, only do believe I was not meanly greedy!  Now I have told you everything, I readily resign into your hands what I ought never to have taken.  And—­and you will spare my nephews wherewithal to educate them?  Do what I can, this is beyond my powers, but I trust to your generosity not to let them be a burden on Colonel Ormonde.  I leave the will with you.”  She made a movement as if to put on her veil.

“Listen to me, Miss Liddell,” said Errington, speaking very earnestly and with an effort.  “You are in a state of exaltation, of mental excitement.  The consciousness of the terrible mistake into which you were tempted has thrown your judgment off its balance.  I do not for an instant doubt the sincerity of your proposition, but a little reflection will show you I could not entertain it.”

“Why not?  I am quite willing to bear the blame, the shame, I deserve, rather than see you parted from the woman who was so nearly your wife, who would no doubt suffer keenly, and who—­”

“Pray hear me,” interrupted Errington.  “To part with Lady Alice is a great aggravation of my present troubles; but considering the kind of life to which we were both accustomed, and which she had a right to expect, I am sincerely thankful she was preserved from sharing my lot.  Alone I can battle with life; distracted by knowing I had dragged her down, I should be paralyzed.  I shall