Arthur cut him short—“I don’t think about it, my dear Courtland; I feel as certain of the result as if I had already seen her answer. Do you suppose I don’t know my own sister, man? But, to come to the point, here’s her address;” he drew a card from his pocket, hastily scribbled a few words, then handing it to Lord Alfred, continued, “and the sooner you go to your club and write the letter, the sooner will your mind be at ease.”
Puzzled, confused, half-alarmed and half-pleased with the new idea thus forced upon him, one thing alone seemed clear to the bewildered young nobleman, viz., that for some reason unexplained his old new acquaintance was desirous of getting rid of him; and, not having yet sufficiently acquired the habits and feelings of a man-about-town to be utterly regardless of the wishes of others, he shook Arthur’s hand, promised to act upon his advice, and departed.
He had scarcely been gone five minutes when a thundering knock at the house-door announced that its mistress had returned, and ere Arthur had time to do more than spring to his feet, Kate, attired in the richest and most becoming out-of-doors costume, entered. As she perceived who was her guest, she started, and her colour went and came rapidly; but recovering herself by a powerful effort, she advanced towards him, and, extending her hand, observed—
“You are such an unaccustomed visitor, that I could scarcely believe my eyes. When did you return from the continent? I am afraid you expected to find Alice here, but she and Mr. Coverdale left me some days since.”
“I returned the day before yesterday,” was the reply, “and found a note from Coverdale, informing me they had left town; my visit here to-day is to yourself.”
As he uttered the last words, his voice unconsciously assumed a sterner tone, and a shade came across his care-worn features. An idea suddenly flashed into Kate’s mind, and in a voice which sufficiently attested her alarm, she exclaimed—
“Something is the matter! I was sure of it the moment I saw you. You would not come here”—(she unconsciously emphasized the words in italics)—“unless such were the case. What is it? I am strong, I can bear it—is my father worse?—dying?”
As she spoke she sank into a chair, and, fixing her eyes upon his face, awaited his reply.
“You alarm yourself unnecessarily,” he said calmly, almost coldly; “I am the bearer of no ill tidings: that I have an object in visiting you I do not deny; whether you will consider it a justifiable one I know not; I regard it in the light of a duty, and therefore, even at the risk of paining and offending you, it must be performed.” He paused for a reply, but as Kate remained silent, he continued: “Your brothers are mere boys, your father a confirmed invalid; circumstances lead me to doubt whether your—whether Mr. Crane is aware of the character of a person who is, I am grieved to find, a constant visitor at this house; and I therefore conceive I have a duty to discharge to one whom I have known from childhood—one in whose welfare an irrevocable past, which cannot be forgotten while memory remains, forces me to interest myself. Kate, I am here to warn you against the insidious advances of that heartless profligate, Horace D’Almayne!”
As he spoke, he fixed his eyes upon her with a searching glance. Kate coloured, drew herself up haughtily, and appeared about to make an angry reply; checking the impulse almost as it arose, she answered—