“I think he has proved it.  Mr. Newton recognized him at the first glance; and he bears a strong resemblance to his father.  I feel he is the man he asserts himself to be.”

“Do you intend to give up without a struggle?  What account does this intruder give of himself?”

Katherine gave him a brief sketch of the story, speaking with firmness and composure.

“What an infernal shame!” cried De Burgh, when she ceased speaking.  “I wish I had had a chance of sending a bullet through his head, and as sure as there is a devil down below I’d have verified the report of his death!  Why, what is to be done?”

“I still faintly hope Mr. Newton may persuade him to forego his first demand for the restoration of those moneys I have spent.  If so, I am not quite penniless, and can hope to—­ At all events, I thought it but right to give you early information, as—­”

“Why?” interrupted De Burgh (for she hesitated), throwing himself on the ottoman and leaning against the arm which divided the seats, till his long dark mustaches nearly touched the coils of her hair.  “Why?” he repeated, as she did not answer immediately.  “I know well enough.  It is your loyalty that makes you wish to open a way of escape to the friend who is credited with seeking your fortune.  I see it all.”

“You can assign any motive you like, Mr. De Burgh, but I thought—­I wished—­I believed it better to let you know; for I shall always consider you my friend, even if we do not meet,” said Katherine, a good deal unhinged by the excitement and distress he displayed.

“Meet? why, of course we shall meet!  Do you think anything in heaven or earth would make me give up the attempt, hopeless as it may seem, to win you?  I know you don’t care a rap for me now, but I cannot, dare not despair.  I’ve too much at stake.  There is the awful sting of this misfortune.  Even if you, by some blessed intervention of Providence, were ready to marry me, I don’t see how I could drag you into such a sea of trouble.  Besides, there’s old De Burgh; he must be kept in good-humor.  By Heaven! this miserable want of money is the most utter degradation—­irresistible, enslaving.  I feel like a beaten cur.  I am tied hand and foot.  Had I not been such a reckless idiot, why, your misfortunes might have been my best chance.  I dare say that sounds shabby enough, but I like to let you see what I am, good and bad; besides, I am ready to do anything, right or wrong, to win you.”

“Ah, Mr. De Burgh, no crookedness ever succeeds.  And then I do not deserve that you should think so much or care so much for me, for I do not wish to marry you or any one.  My plan of life is framed on quite different lines.  Do put me out of your mind, and think of your own fortunes.  Do not vex Lord De Burgh; but oh! pray give up racing and gambling.  You know I really do like you, not exactly in the way you wish, but it adds greatly to my troubles (for I am very sorry to lose my fortune, I assure you) to see you so—­so disturbed.”