“Well, mother, I am quite willing to undertake the task.  Not that I am going to be a bond-slave, but as soon as you have paid your debt, I shall consider myself free.”

“By that time, my dear young lady, I hope you will have made yourself of so much importance to your uncle that he will make it worth your while to stay,” exclaimed Newton, who was evidently actuated by a friendly feeling toward both mother and daughter.

“He must bribe high, then,” returned Kate, laughing.

“Then may I inform Mr. Liddell that you accept his proposition? and you are prepared to begin your duties at once!  Remember he considers his acceptance of five instead of ten per cent, frees him from the necessity of paying you any salary.”

“Surely the laborer is worthy of his hire,” said Mrs. Liddell.

“No doubt of it, madam; but the case is a peculiar one.”

Some more particulars were discussed and arranged; Mr. Newton begged Mrs. Liddell to look out for and select a servant, that Katherine might begin with some prospect of comfort.  It was settled that an interview should be arranged between Mrs. Liddell and her brother-in-law on the day but one following, at which Mr. Newton was to assist, Finally she signed a paper, and received six lovely new crisp bank-notes, the magic touch of which has so marvellously reviving an effect.

Katherine slipped her arm through her mother’s and pressed it lovingly as they walked to the Metropolitan station for their return journey.  “Now, dear, you will have a little peace,” she said.

“Dear-bought peace, my darling.  I cannot reconcile myself to such a fate for you.”

“Still, the money is a comfort.”

“It is indeed.  I will pay the rent to-day, and to-morrow I will give Ada her money.  That will be an infinite relief.  And still I shall have a few pounds left.  Katie dear, is it not too dreadful, the prospect of eating, drinking, sleeping, and beginning di nuovo each morning in that gloomy house?  How shall you bear it?”

“You shall see.  If I can have a little chat with you every week I shall be able for a good deal.  Then, remember, the book still remains.  When that succeeds we may snap our fingers at rich uncles.”

“When that time comes,” interrupted her mother, “you will be tied to the poor old miser by habit and the subtle claims which pity and comprehension weave round the sympathetic.”

“Oh, if I ever grow to like him it will simplify matters very much.  I almost hope I may, but it is not likely.  How strange it will be to live in a different house from you!  How dreadfully the boys will tease you when I am away!  Come; suppose we go and see the Cheerful Visitor—­the editor, I mean—­before we return, and then we can say we have been to a publisher.  I really do not think Ada knows the difference between an editor and a publisher.”

“Very likely; nor would you, probably, if you had not a mother who scribbles weak fiction.”