"It is, no doubt. Do you think, as he is already rich, that he might do something for the boys? Then I should not care."
"The boys!"—impatiently. "You need not trouble about them when he has the power to rob you even of the trifle you inherit from your father by demanding the arrears of income since your uncle's death, as he has the right to do. Why, he can beggar you!"
"Indeed! He looks like a hard man; he is like his father."
"Well, trust me, I will do my best for you."
"I know you will," returned Katherine, pressing the old lawyer's hand as he leaned against the carriage door.
"Good-by! God bless you!" he returned; and Katherine was carried away from him. Slowly and sadly the old man ascended to his office again to confront the angry claimant, who awaited him impatiently.
Meantime Katherine was striving to think clearly, to rouse herself from the stunned, bewildered condition into which the appearance of George Liddell had thrown her, and which Mr. Newton's words increased. What was to become of Cis and Charlie if she were beggared? She could not face the prospect. There was still a way of escape left, a glimpse of which had been given to her as she listened to her cousin's vindictive utterances. If she could prevail on Errington to produce the will and assert his right, he would provide for those poor innocent boys, and never ask her for any of the money she had spent. Maybe he would share with George himself. She must see Errington at once, and with the strictest secrecy. Her thoughts cleared as, bit by bit, her plan unfolded itself in her busy brain. Then she made up her mind. Touching the check-string, she desired the driver to stop at a small fancyware and stationer's shop near Miss Payne's house. Arrived there, she dismissed the carriage, saying she would walk home.
"Give me paper and an envelope: I want to write a few lines," she said to the smiling shopwoman, who knew her to be one of their best customers.
Having traced a few words entreating Errington to see her early next day—should he happen to be out or engaged—she hailed a hansome, and went as quickly as she could to his lodgings in the Temple.
It was quite different, this second visit, from the first. He now knew all, and in spite of her fears and profound uneasiness she felt a thrill of pleasure at the idea of the necessity for taking counsel with him, the prospect of half an hour's undisturbed communication, of hearing his voice, and feeling his kind forgiving glance. Still it was an awful trial too—to tell him the upshot of her dishonesty, the confusion she had wrought by her deviation into a crooked path. She was trembling from head to foot by the time she reached Errington's abode.