Mrs. Burton looked absolutely shocked. "Dear Katherine, do be serious for once if you can!" she pleaded. "If I thought that you cared for Mr. Ferrars yourself I should never have mentioned this to you at all; but you are so plainly fancy-free that surely it won't hurt you to stand aside and let Mary have her chance."
"Stand aside? How?" Katherine kept her voice steady by an effort, while her thoughts flew back to that evening when Jervis Ferrars had taken her up to Ochre Lake, and had talked to her of the struggles and hardships of his life. She had been so happy that evening, and every day since had been like a festival. There had been no need to put things into words: she had known that night that Jervis Ferrars cared for her; she had been equally well assured that she cared for him, and the knowledge brought with it a rest and contentment such as she had never known before. But if what her sister said was correct, then it might be that she was wrong, something worse than selfish even, to take this good thing which was offered to her; and the standing-aside idea would have to be very carefully considered.
Mrs. Burton rolled up her abundant hair, and poked in half a dozen hairpins to keep it in place. Then she said: "You are so much better-looking than Mary, and you have so much more charm of manner! It is easy to see that Mr. Ferrars is attracted by you, because his eyes always follow you every time you move. Then you saved his life at considerable risk, which, of course, is tremendously in your favour, or would be, if you cared about him. But if you don't really want to marry him it would be kind to stand back and let Mary have a chance. Of course it would be an immense advantage to Mr. Ferrars to marry Mr. Selincourt's daughter, for I fancy he is very poor, although he is such a cultured gentleman; and money does make a great deal of difference in the comfort of one's daily life."
"Indeed it does, my wise, practical sister. Really, your argument is not half bad, and is well worth my best consideration, which it shall have," said Katherine; then giving her sister a good-night kiss, she dived into bed and promptly went to sleep, or at least pretended to do so, which was the same thing in its effect on Mrs. Burton, who soon went to sleep herself.
In reality there was little rest for Katherine that night, for she was faced by a problem that had never even occurred to her before. If she followed the desire of her own heart, she stood in the way of two people. True, she might make Jervis Ferrars happy with her love, more especially as she was quite sure that he cared for her. But would there ever come a time when he might be tempted to wish for more worldly advantages, and to long for the power that money brings? Lying there in the twilight of the northern summer night, which was never in that month quite dark, Katherine faced the future with a steady, single-hearted desire to do the right thing at all costs. She felt herself doubly bound. Her own love for Jervis made her hesitate about allowing him to bind himself to a life of poverty, or at least a life of continuous struggle, such as marriage with a portionless wife must bring.
But Jervis was only one consideration. There was Mary also to be thought of. And then it flashed upon Katherine that Mary had even more claim upon her than Jervis. Ever since 'Duke Radford had been stricken down, robbed of memory, of understanding, and the power to think and act for himself, Katherine had carried her father's sin as if it were a wrongdoing of her own. He had implored her to expiate it if she could. But how could she? Even the saving grace of confession was denied to her, for she could not go to Mr. Selincourt and say: "My father did you a bitter wrong many years ago; please forgive him, and say no more about it!"
It was true that she and Phil had saved the rich man's life by pulling him out of the muskeg, but there had been little personal risk for herself in the matter, although it had been very hard work, and there were scars on her hands still where the ropes had cut into the skin. Hard work was not self-sacrifice, however, and as Katherine understood things it was only by self-sacrifice that she could expiate her father's sin, if indeed it ever could be expiated.
Could she do it? Lying there in the mean little room, with the grey twilight showing outside the open window, she told herself 'No': she could not do it, she could not stand aside and give up to another what she wanted so badly for herself. But, as the slow hours stole by, a different mood crept over her. She thought of the Saviour of the world, and the sacrifices he had made for man; then prayed for grace to tread the thorny path of self-immolation, if such action should be required of her.
She dared not rise to kneel and pray, the little bedroom was too crowded for privacy; and although she often yearned for a room, however small, to have for her sole use, this was not possible. Folding her hands on her breast, she prayed for strength to do what was right, for guidance in the way she had to go, and wisdom to see the true from the false. Then, because her day's work had made her so very tired, she fell asleep, and presently began to dream that she was at the marriage of Mary Selincourt with Jervis Ferrars, and that it was her place to give away the bride. She was doing her part, as she believed, faithfully and well, although the dragging pain at her heart was almost more than she could endure, and the part of the marriage service had been reached where the ring should have been put on Mary's hand, when, to her amazement, she found it was on her own finger.
"Katherine, Katherine, how soundly you sleep, dear! Wake up, we are quite late this morning!" said Mrs. Burton, and Katherine opened her tired, heavy eyes to find that Beth and Lotta were enjoying a lively pillow fight on the other bed, and that their mother was already half-dressed.