“If I am penniless,” said Katherine, controlling her inclination to scream aloud with agony, “I must accept your offer—­any offer that will provide for my nephews.  If not, I will devote myself and what I have to them.  I really wish you would go and see Mr. Newton; he will make you understand matters better than I can; and as you have come in such a spirit, I should be glad if you would leave me.  I cannot look on you as friends, considering how you have spoken.”

“By George!” interrupted the Colonel, much astonished.  “This is giving us the turn-out.”

“What ingratitude!” cried his wife, with pious indignation, as she rose and tied on her veil.

Her further utterance was arrested, for the door was thrown open, and Francois announced, “Mr. Errington.”

A great stillness fell upon them as Errington walked in, cool, collected, well dressed, as usual.

“Very glad to meet you here, Mrs. Ormonde,” he said, when he had shaken hands with Katherine.  “Miss Liddell has need of all her friends at such a crisis.  How do, Colonel; you look the incarnation of healthy country life.”

“Ah—­ah; I’m very well, thank you,” somewhat confusedly.  “Just been trying to persuade Miss Liddell here to dispute this preposterous claim.  I don’t believe this man is the real thing.”

“I am afraid he is,” gravely; “I know him, for John Liddell was a friend of my father’s in early life, and I feel satisfied this man is his son.”

“You do.  Well, I shall speak to my own lawyers and Newton about it:  one can’t give up everything at the first demand to stand and deliver.”

“No; neither is it wise to throw good money after bad.  We were just going to Mr. Newton’s, so I’ll say good-morning.  Till to-morrow, Katherine.  I’ll report what Newton says.”

“Good-morning, Mr. Errington,” said Mrs. Ormonde, pulling herself together, and her veil down.  “This is a terrible business!  I feel it as acutely as if it were myself—­I mean my own case.  I am sure it is so good of you to come and see Katherine.  I hope you will give us a few days at Castleford.”  So murmuring and with a painful smile, she hastened downstairs after her husband.

Then Errington closed the door and returned to where Katherine stood, white and trembling, in the middle of the room.  “I am afraid your kinsfolk have been but Job’s comforters,” he said, looking earnestly into her eyes, his own so grave and compassionate that her heart grew calmer under their gaze.  “You are greatly disturbed.”

“They have been very cruel,” she murmured.  “Yet, not knowing all you do, they could not know how cruel.  They are so angry because what I tried to do for the boys proved a failure.  They little dream how guilty I feel for having created this confusion.  If I am obliged to give up Cis and Charlie to—­to Colonel Ormonde, their lot will be a miserable one!” She spoke brokenly, and her eyes brimmed over, the drops hanging on her long lashes.