“Tell me, pray do—what other names did you hear?”
“One name was Barton; the other——” Catharine stopped abruptly, and her face grew pallid.
“Well, that other. I do not recognize this.”
“The other,” said Catharine, looking sadly into the anxious face turned upon her, “the other was your own name—Oakley.”
CHAPTER LXVIII.
DOUBTS AND FEARS.
There was a new servant in Mrs. Townsend Oakley’s household; a large-featured, energetic person, whom the housekeeper had engaged in town as a chambermaid. This woman was busy in the west room, when Catharine entered Mrs. Oakley’s parlor, and though occupied, she kept a vigilant watch on all that was passing between the two young women. She saw Catharine draw the boy toward her, and remarked the look of agitation which could not be misunderstood, on discovering the cross upon his temple. The distance prevented her hearing any words, but as she fixed her scrutiny upon the various faces of that little group, a gleam of sharp intelligence shot from her eyes, she softly laid down her duster, and keeping out of sight in the movement, crept stealthily behind the half-open door.
Now she could hear their voices, low and troubled, but still distinct to her keen ear.
“She is right, my mother is right,” said Mrs. Oakley, wringing her delicate hands in an abandon of grief. “How dare he? How could he enter my house? How could I—oh! weak, weak wretch that I am!”
“Of whom do you speak?” said Catharine, pale as death, and shivering till her teeth chattered.
“Of De Marke,—of that boy’s father!”