"Well, miss, you'll ring if you want me. And dear me! you ought to have a bit of fire. I'll light one up in a minnit."
"Not till you have had your tea. I am not cold."
"You look awful bad, miss!" With this comforting assurance Mrs. Knapp departed, leaving the door partially open.
A muffled sound, as if people were moving softly and cautiously, was wafted to Katherine as she sat and listened: then a door closed gently; voices murmuring in a subdued tone reached her ear, retreating as if the speakers had gone downstairs.
Katherine went to the window. It was a wretchedly dark, drizzling afternoon—cold too, with gusts of wind. She hoped Mr. Newton would make her mother take a cab. It was no weather for her to stand about waiting for an omnibus. Would the time ever come when they need not think of pennies?
Suddenly she turned, took a key from her basket, and walked composedly downstairs, unlocked the drawer of the writing-table, and took out her uncle's last will and testament. Then she closed the drawer, leaving the key in the lock, as it had always been, and returned to her room.
Having fastened her door, she applied herself to read the document. It was short and simple, and with the exception of a small legacy to Mr. Newton, left all the testator possessed to a man whose name was utterly unknown to her. Mr. Newton was the sole executor, and the will was dated nearly seven years back.
Katherine read it through a second time, and then very deliberately folded it up. "It shall not stand in my way," she murmured, her lips closing firmly, and she sat for a few minutes holding it tight in her hand, as she thought steadily what she should do. "Had my uncle lived a few hours more, this would have been destroyed or nullified. I will carry out his intentions. I wonder what is the legal penalty for the crime or felony I am going to commit? At all events I shall risk it. The only punishment I fear is my mother's condemnation. She must never know. It is a huge theft, whether the man I rob is rich or poor. I hope he is very rich. I know I am doing a great wrong; that if others acted as I am acting there would be small security for property—perhaps for life—but I'll do it. Shall I ever be able to hold up my head and look honest folk in the face! I will try. If I commit this robbery I must not falter nor repent. I must be consistently, boldly false, and I must get done with it before my dearest mother comes. How grieved and disappointed she would be if she knew! She believes so firmly in my truthfulness. Well, I have been true, and I will be, save in this. Here I will lie by silence. Where shall I hide it? for I will not destroy it—not yet at least. No elaborate concealment is necessary."
She rose up and took some thin brown paper—such as is used in shops to wrap up lace and ribbons—and folded the will in it neatly, tying it up with twine, and writing on it, "old MSS., to be destroyed." Then she laid it in the bottom of her box. "If my mother sees it, the idea of old MS. will certainly deter her from looking at it." She put back the things she had taken out and closed the box; then she stood for a moment of thought. What would the result be? Who could tell? Some other unknown Liddells might start up to share the inheritance. Well, she would not mind that much; so long as she could secure some years of modest competence to her mother, some help for her little nephews, she would be content.
Now that she had accomplished what an hour ago was a scarcely entertained idea, she felt wonderfully calm, but curious as to how things would turn out, with the sort of curiosity she might have felt with regard to the action of another.