She too honestly confessed her regret that the old man had been cut off before he could fulfil his intention of making a new will, “though,” she said to her daughter as they talked together, “we cannot be sure that he would have remembered us—­or rather you.  But there is no use in thinking of what is past out of the range of possibilities.  Let us only hope whoever is heir will not insist on immediate repayment of that loan.  It is strange that you should have managed to make the poor old man’s acquaintance, and to a certain degree succeed with him, only in his last days.”

“Try and talk of something else, mother dear.  It is all so ghastly and oppressive!  Tell me about Ada and the boys.”

“Ada was out when Mr. Newton came.  I left a little note telling her of your uncle’s awfully sudden death, and of my intention of remaining with you until after the funeral.  What a state of excitement she will be in!  I have no doubt she will be here to-morrow.”

“Very likely,” said Katherine, who was pouring out tea.

“Did Mr. Newton mention to you that your uncle had written to him to come and draw up a new will?”

“Why, I wrote the note, which my uncle signed.”

“Yes, of course; I had forgotten.  But did Mr. Newton say that he had a faint hope that he might have destroyed the other will?”

“He did; but it is not probable.”

“It would make an immense difference to us if he had.”

“Would it?” asked Kate, to extract an answer from her mother.

“Mr. Newton believes that if he died intestate you would inherit everything.”

“What! would not the little boys share?”

“I am not sure.  But to get away from the subject, which somehow always draws me back to it, I have one bit of good news for you, my darling.  I had a letter from Santley this morning.  He will take my novel, and will give me a hundred and fifty pounds for it.”

“Really?  Oh, this is glorious news!  I am so delighted!  Then you will get more for the next; you will become known and appreciated.”

“Do not be too sure; it may be a failure.  And at present I do not feel as if I should ever have any ideas again.  My brain seems so weary.”

“Perhaps,” whispered Katherine, “you may be able to rest.  You are looking very tired and ill.”

Somewhat to her own surprise, Katherine slept profoundly that night.  The delicious sense of comfort and security which her mother’s presence brought soothed her ineffably.  It seemed as if no harm could touch her while she felt the clasp of those dear arms.

The early forenoon brought Mr. Newton, and after a little preliminary talk respecting the arrangements he had made for the funeral, he proposed to look for the will which he had drawn up some years before, and which, to the best of his recollection, Mr. Liddell had taken charge of himself.

“Might you not wait until the poor old man is laid in his last home? asked Mrs. Liddell.