“Pray come in,” said Errington; and he closed the door behind her.  “I fear you are in some difficulty.  You can speak without reserve; I am quite alone.”

Katherine was aware of passing through a small room with doors right and left, and possessing only a couple of chairs and a small table; through this Errington led her to his sitting-room, which was almost lined with books, and comfortably furnished.  He placed a chair for her, and returned to his own seat by a table at which he had been writing.

“The last time I came it was in the hope of assisting you by my confession; now I have come to beg for your help—­” She stopped abruptly.  “My uncle’s son George, who was believed to have been killed by bush-rangers in Australia more than fourteen years ago, has returned, alive and well.”

“But can he prove his identity?”

“I was with Mr. Newton when he came into the office, and the moment Mr. Newton saw him he started up, exclaiming, ‘George Liddell!’ and I—­I saw the likeness to his father.”

“Did Newton know him formerly?”

“Yes; he seems to have been almost his only friend.”

“How was it he did not put in an appearance and assert his rights before?”

“I will tell you all.”  And she went on to describe the interview which had just taken place, the curious vindictive spirit which her cousin displayed, his very recent knowledge of his father’s death, and Mr. Newton’s words of warning, “He has the power to rob you even of the trifle you inherit from your father, by demanding the arrears of income since your uncle’s death; he can beggar you.”

“No doubt he can, but surely he will not!” exclaimed Errington.

“It seems to me that if he can he will.  To give him up that which is his is quite right, and will not cost me a pang; but to be penniless, to send back my poor dear little boys, to be considered and treated as burdens by their mother and Colonel Ormonde—­oh, I cannot bear it!  I know now Charlie would be crushed and Cecil would be hardened.  It is for this I come to you for help.  Mr. Errington, I implore you to produce the will which puts this cruelty out of George Liddell’s power.  Surely you might say that not liking to disinherit me, you suppressed it?  This is true, you know.”

“The will!” exclaimed Errington, starting up and pacing the room in great agitation.  “My God!  I have destroyed it.  Thinking it safer for you that it should be out of the way, I destroyed it, and by so doing I have given you, bound hand and foot, into the power of this man.  Can you forgive me?—­can you ever forgive me?” He took and wrung her hand, holding it for a moment, while he looked imploringly into her eyes.