"The captain will just manage to meet the young lady by taking a little round, and he is stepping out," said Capes to himself, as he watched his master.
"The rascal read me like a book," was the captain's conclusion, "and answered every question I wished to ask, without my needing to utter a word. He is a sharp fellow, and appears devoted to my interest; but, all the same, he would throw me over or betray me to-morrow, if by so doing he could advance his own. Never mind, I can take care of myself; and when Jem Capes ceases to be of use to me I shall get rid of him."
Meanwhile Kathleen was hurrying onward with the letter, which she held tightly concealed in her muff. She was longing to read it, but conquered the inclination to break the seal until she could do so without being observed. She felt herself trembling with surprise and excitement. It seemed so strange, that when her thoughts were wholly occupied by the writer, a message from him should be so suddenly placed in her hand. He was near when she believed him to be far-away. Kathleen's guardians had rejoiced at Captain Torrance's unexpected absence. Kathleen herself had been disturbed and rendered anxious by it, and whilst all around her imagined that it was a matter of indifference to her whether he returned or not, she had bestowed a larger share of her thoughts upon him than at any previous time. Part of these have been unveiled. But Kathleen had gone further, and in the depth of her own heart she had pictured herself as being the instrument of saving Captain Jack from himself; and changing him, his home, and his boy. She had heard, too, often, how many tens of thousands would be absolutely hers a twelvemonth hence, hoarded during the last years of her father's retired life and her own minority. The money was mere dross now—of no use to anybody—and Kathleen almost loathed it on this account. But what a glorious thing it would be if, by the judicious expenditure of a part of it, a new life could be opened for Captain Jack!
She forgot, poor girl, that this man had spent his own patrimony, and that another girl, good, pure, and unselfish, had dedicated to him her life and her fortune, with the same object in view, but all in vain.
Kathleen soon reached a quiet lane, which led to a field-path by which she meant to return home. There was beauty enough all around to attract her admiration, but she saw none of it now. Her thoughts were concentrated on the letter, and the moment she felt herself secure from observation she opened it, and read as follows:—
"Monk's How, December 4."
"DEAR MISS MOUNTFORD,"
"Before I left home, nearly a month ago,
I was most anxious to ask your forgiveness for an
act which I shall never cease to regret. The thought