Her sister-in-law’s stings and passing fits of ill-humor never irritated Katherine unless they worried her mother, nor did this most unwonted outburst of irrepressible indignation, but it distressed her.  “Come, Ada, don’t be cross,” she said.  “It was perhaps want of tact in me to suggest anything, though my idea is right enough.  It is quite natural that you should be awfully vexed.  Perhaps Mr. Newton is wrong; at all events, if the law is unjust, I need not act unjustly, and believe me, I will not.”

“I hope not,” returned the young widow, a little mollified.  “I always believe you haven’t a bad heart, Katherine, though you have a disagreeble sullen temper.  Now I am too open; you see the worst of me at once; but I do not remember unkindness; and if you do what is right in this, I—­I shall always speak of you as you deserve.  Do get me something to eat; I am awfully hungry, and though I hate beer, I will take some; it is better than nothing.  How you go on on water I cannot imagine; it will ruin your digestion.”

So they went amicably enough into the dining-room together, one to be ministered to, the other to minister.

Here the boys joined them; but for a wonder their mother was silent respecting her visit to the lawyer, and soon went away to write to Colonel Ormonde, on whom she had conferred, unasked, the office of prime counsellor and referee.  This opened up a splendid field for letters full of flattering appeals to his wisdom and judgment, and touching little confessions of her own weakness, folly, and need for guidance.

“DEAR MISS LIDDELL,—­I should be glad if you could call on Tuesday next about one o’clock.  I have various documents to show you, or I should not give you the trouble to come here.  If Mrs. Liddell is disengaged and could come also it would be well.  I am yours faithfully,
          
                                                  A. NEWTON.”

Such was the letter which the first post brought to Katherine about six weeks after the death of John Liddell.

Katherine, who always rose and dressed first, found it on the table when she went down to give the boys their breakfast, to coax the fire to burn brightly if it was inclined to be sulky, and to make the coffee for her mother and Mrs. Fred.

As soon as she had seen the two little men at work on their bread and milk she flew back to her mother.

“Do read this!  Do you think that Mr. Newton wants me because I am to have my uncle’s money at last?”

“Yes, I do.  There can be no other reason for his wishing to see you, dearest child.  What a wonderful change it will make if this is the case!  I can then cease, to mourn the failure of my poor powers, and let the publishers go free.  My love, I did not think anything could affect you so much.  You are white and trembling.”

“I have been more anxious than you knew,” returned Katherine, who felt strangely overcome, curiously terrified, at the near approach of success—­the success she had ventured on so daring an act to secure.  “I greatly feared some other claimant—­some other will, I mean—­might be found.”