"I never heard of such a fool!" cried Mrs. Ormonde. "It was bad enough to be disappointed of the wealth old Errington was supposed to have left behind him, but to give up everything! Why, he is only fit for a lunatic asylum. What an awful disappointment for poor Lady Alice!"
Katherine did not, could not speak. The rush of sorrow for the heavy blow which had fallen on the man she had robbed, the shame and self-reproach, which had been lulled asleep for a while, which now woke up with renewed power to torment and irritate—these were too much for her self-control, and while Mrs. Ormonde and De Burgh eagerly discussed the catastrophe, she kept silence and struggled to be composed.
CHAPTER XIX.
CONFESSION.
"Errington is completely ruined!" De Burgh's words repeated themselves over and over again in Katherine's ears through the darkness and silence of her sleepless night. What would become of him—that grave, stately man who had never known the touch of anything common or unclean? How would he live? And what an additional blow the rupture of his engagement with Lady Alice! He was certainly very fond of her. It was like him to give up all he possessed to save the honor of his name, but how would it be if he were penniless? Had she not robbed him, he might have enough to live comfortably after satisfying every one. As she thought, a resolution to restore what she had taken formed itself in her mind. Perhaps if he could show that he had still a solid capital, his engagement to Lady Alice need not be broken off. If she could restore him to competence, he would not refuse some provision for the poor dear boys. Were she secure on this point, she would be happier without the money than with it. But the humiliation of confession—and to such a father confessor? How could she do it? Yet it must be done.
"Good gracious, Katherine, you look like a ghost!" was Mrs. Ormonde's salutation when the little party met at breakfast next morning. "Pray have you seen one?"
"Yes; I have been surrounded by a whole gallery of ghosts all night—which means that a bad conscience would not let me sleep."
"What nonsense! Why, you are a perfect saint, Kate, in some ways; but in others I must say you are foolish; yes, dear, I must say it—very foolish."
"I dare say I am," returned Katherine; "but whether I am or not, I have an intense headache, so you must excuse me if I am very stupid."