Katherine felt her error, and turned the subject; then, returning to it, begged him to see a doctor.  This he refused sternly.  Finally she had recourse to an article on the revenue in the paper, which soothed him, and she saw the old man totter off to bed with extreme uneasiness, yet not daring even to suggest a night light, so irritable did he seem.

Before she slept she wrote a brief account of what had occurred to Mr. Newton, and implored him to come and remonstrate with his client.

CHAPTER VII.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

Katherine Liddell had never spent so uneasy a night, save when her mother had been ill.  Her nerves were on the stretch, her ears painfully watchful for the smallest sound.  What if the desolate old man should pass away, alone and unaided, in the darkness of night!  The sense of responsibility was almost too much for her.  If she could have her mother at her side she would fear nothing.  She was up early, thankful to see daylight, and eager for Mrs. Knapp’s report of her uncle.

Generally the old man was afoot betimes, and despised the luxury of warm water.  This morning Mrs. Knapp had to knock at his door, as he was not moving, and after a brief interview returned to inform Katherine that Mr. Liddell grumbled at her for being up too early, and on hearing that it was half past eight, said she had better bring him a cup of tea.

Katherine carried it to him herself.  He took very little notice of her, but said he would get up presently and hear the papers read.

When she came back with some jelly, for which she had sent to the nearest confectioner, he ate it without comment, and told her she might go.

It was a miserable morning, but about noon, to her great delight, she saw Mr. Newton opening the garden gate.  She flew to admit him.

“I am so thankful you have come!”

“How is Mr. Liddell?”

“He seems quite himself this morning, except that he is inclined to stay in bed.”

“He must see a doctor,” said Mr. Newton, speaking in a low voice and turning into the parlor.  “We must try and keep him alive and in his senses for every reason.  I am glad he is still in bed; it will give me an excuse for urging him to take advice, for of course I shall not mention your note.”

“No pray do not.  He evidently does not like to be thought ill.”

“Pray how long have you been here—­nearly a month?  Yes, I thought so.  I cannot compliment you on your looks.  How do you think you have been getting on with our friend?”

“Not very well, I fear,” said Katherine, shaking her head.  “He rarely speaks to me, except to give some order or ask some necessary question.  Yet he does not speak roughly or crossly, as he does to Mrs. Knapp; and something I cannot define in his voice, even in his cold eyes, tells me he is growing used to my presence, and that he does not dislike it.”