A severe-looking woman, a caretaker apparently, was on the stair as Katherine ascended, feeling dreadfully puzzled what to do, as she feared having to knock in vain and go away without leaving her note.
"Can you tell me if Mr. Errington is at home?" she asked, timidly, quite frightened at the sound of her own voice in so strange a place.
"I am sure I don't know, miss. I dare say he's gone out. He is up the next flight."
"May I ask you to inquire if he is in? If not, would you be so kind as to leave this note?"
The woman took it with a rather discontented suspicious air, but finding it was accompanied by a coin of the realm, went on her errand with great alacrity. Katherine followed slowly.
"You're to walk up at once; he's in," said the emissary, meeting her at the top of the stair.
At the door stood Errington, her note in his hand, and a serious, uneasy expression on his countenance. Katherine was very white; her eyes were dilated with a look of fear and distress.
"Pray come in," said Errington; and he closed the door behind her. "I fear you are in some difficulty. You can speak without reserve; I am quite alone."
Katherine was aware of passing through a small room with doors right and left, and possessing only a couple of chairs and a small table; through this Errington led her to his sitting-room, which was almost lined with books, and comfortably furnished. He placed a chair for her, and returned to his own seat by a table at which he had been writing.
"The last time I came it was in the hope of assisting you by my confession; now I have come to beg for your help—" She stopped abruptly. "My uncle's son George, who was believed to have been killed by bush-rangers in Australia more than fourteen years ago, has returned, alive and well."