They were silent for a while; then a solemn old eight-day clock with a fine tone struck loudly and deliberatedly in the room below. Katherine, with a smile, counted each stroke. "Nine!" she exclaimed, when the last had sounded; "and though it is 9 P.M., let it be the first hour of your new life." She rose, and passing her arm over Rachel's shoulder, kissed her once more with sisterly warmth. "Mr. Payne is waiting for me, so I must leave you. I have sent you some books; I have but few here. One will amuse you, I am sure, though it is old enough—a translation of the Memoirs of Madam d'Abrantes. It is full of such quaint pictures of the great Napoleon's court, and does not display much dignity or nobility, yet it is an honest sort of book."
"Thank you. I don't want novels now; they generally pain me. But my greatest solace is to forget myself in a book."
Bertie Payne's visit was a very happy one. The boys adored him, and subjects of discussion and difference of opinion never failed between Katherine and himself. She consulted him as to what school would be best for Cecil, and he advised that he should be left as a boarder at the one which he now attended, and where he had made fair progress, when Miss Payne and Katherine returned to town.
Bertie looked a new man when he bade them good-by, promising to come again soon.
Beyond sending a newspaper which recorded his victory in the Barton Towers steeple-chase De Burgh made no sign, and life ran smoothly in its ordinary grooves at Sandbourne.
Rachel Trant revived marvellously. The change of scene, the fresh salt-air, above all the society of Katherine, who frequently visited and walked with her, all combined to give her new life—even emboldening her to look at the future. Her manner, always grave and respectful, won reluctant approval from Miss Payne. And the boys were always pleased to run to the boatman's cottage with flowers or fruit, and talk to, or rather question, their new friend. Rachel seemed always glad to see them, though she evidently shrank from returning their visits. She was never quite herself, or off guard, except when alone with Katherine. Then she spoke out of her heart, and uttered thoughts and opinions which often surprised Katherine, and set her thinking more seriously than she had ever done before. Finally, hearing from her good old landlady that some of her customers had returned to town and were inquiring for her, Rachel said it was time her holiday came to an end.
"I feel now that I can bear to live and try to be independent. Indeed my life is yours; you have given it back to me, and I will yet prove to you that I am not unworthy of your wonderful generosity," she said, the morning of the day she was to start for London, as she sat with Katherine among the rocks at the point. "The idea of an establishment such as Mr. Payne suggests is excellent. It ought to be your property, and good property—I need only be your steward—while it may be of great use to others."
"I feel quite impatient to carry out the project, and we will set about it as soon as I return to town," returned Katherine.
"Will you write to me sometimes?" asked Rachel, humbly. "I feel as if I dare not let you go: all of hope or promise that can come into my wrecked life centres in you. While you are my friend I can face the world."
"Yes, Rachel, write to me as often as you like, and I will answer your letters. Trust me: I will always be your true friend."