“I think I should rather have nothing to do with him,” murmured Katherine.

“Well, well, we will see.  Now, though we have not succeeded in coming to any settlement with Liddell, I believe we ought not to leave Mrs. Ormonde any longer in ignorance respecting the change which has taken place.”

“No, I am sure they ought to know.  I have been troubling myself about both the Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde,” said Katherine.  “This is what I dread most.”  And she sighed.

“I do not see why you need.  I am sure you acted with noble liberality to Mrs. Ormonde and her boys when you thought you were the rightful owner of the property.”

“The rightful owner,” repeated Katherine, with a thrill of pain.  “It has been an unfortunate ownership to me.”

“It has—­it has indeed, my dear young lady, but we must see how to help you at this juncture.  If Miss Trant behaves as she ought, we must put a little more capital in that concern if it is as thriving as you believe.  It may turn out very useful to you.”

“I have not seen her since my cousin came to life again, for I could not see her and keep back my strange story.  May I tell her now?”

“Certainly.  It was from Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde I wished to keep back the disastrous news till some agreement should be come to.”

“You must not call my cousin’s return to life and country disastrous,” said Katherine, smiling.  “I am sure, if he will only give me the chance of keeping my boys with me, I am quite ready to welcome him to both.  Now I shall leave you, for I want to send away my letter to Ada this evening, and it is a difficult letter to write.”

“I have no doubt you will state your case clearly and well,” returned Mr. Newton, rising to shake hands with her.  “Let me hear what Mrs. Ormonde says in reply; and see your protegee, Miss Trant.  I am anxious to learn her views.”

“I am quite sure I know what they will be,” said Katherine.

“Don’t be too sure.  Human nature is a very crooked thing—­more crooked than a true heart like yours can imagine,” continued the old man, holding her hand kindly.

“Ah, Mr. Newton,” she cried, with an irresistible outburst of penitence, “you little know what crooked things I can imagine.”

“Can’t I?” he said laughing at what he fancied was her little joke, and glad to see her bearing her troubles so lightly.  “You’ll come all right yet, my dear; you have the right spirit.  Is your carriage waiting?”

“Not here; but in Holborn I have several at my command,” she returned.  “Good-by; no, you must not come downstairs; it is damp and chilly.”