But the exertion and excitement had been too much for Aunt Cicely. There was a sudden alarm in the night, the sound of hushed and hasty footsteps on the stairs, a hurried consultation between Catherine and the housekeeper. The former stood by the bedside, holding her aunt’s hand, and feeling as if her last earthly support were slipping from her. Then came the doctor, only to pronounce that the sufferer was past his skill; even if he had come earlier he could not have helped her. The grey September dawn found Catherine once more alone in the world, and feeling more desolate than ever.
CHAPTER V.
Catherine and her aunt’s lawyer were sitting together in the vast drawing-room with the big bay windows. He was an elderly man, with daughters of his own, and felt sorry for this girl, who had apparently no relations to look after her interests. And he shrank, too, from telling her the state of affairs. She had every reason to suppose that she was an heiress; if her aunt had died a day sooner that anticipation would have been realised; but now she had to be informed that she was left with only a small income, while the bulk of the property had gone to an entire stranger.
“Your aunt,” said Mr. Cheadle, “was—er—a lady of some eccentricity. On your father’s death she made a will in your favour, and this remained unaltered till the day before her decease. But last Wednesday she called on me and made another in favour of this strange gentleman. Your legacy consists of various investments, which altogether produce an annual income of £150, enough to ensure your comfort, but a mere trifle compared to what you might have expected.”
Catherine brought her mind with an effort to the business before her.
“It is very good of you—of her, I mean,” she answered. “The last time my aunt spoke about the matter, she threatened to leave me without anything. I had displeased her, and this is far more than I had any right to expect.”
Mr. Cheadle rose. “I am glad that you are satisfied,” he said, with an air of relief. “You will let me know your further movements, and if I can do anything for you?”
“Thank you,” she answered. “I am quite undecided at present, but I am sure that I shall settle down quite well. But I will let you know.”
The lawyer departed, and Catherine, putting on her hat and cape, went out to walk along the shore. The autumn evening, with its chilly wind, and the grey sea, flecked with white patches of foam, seemed to harmonise curiously with her sad thoughts. The shore was quite deserted, and she hurried on, striving to overpower by physical fatigue the restless pain at her heart.
All at once, amidst the sighing of the wind and waves, she heard footsteps behind her; the smooth track that led over the beach was only wide enough for one, and standing aside to let this other pedestrian pass, she found herself face to face with Granville Gray.