ll him the truth; if not, I would simply be silent. In short, I
mentally _tossed_ for the guidance of my conduct. Silence won. Mr.
Newton asked nothing; he was too glad that everything was mine. He has
been very, very good to me. I imagined that half my uncle's money would
go to my brother's children, but it did not; so when I came of age I
settled a third upon them. Of course the deed of gift is now but so much
waste paper, and for them I would earnestly implore you to spare a
little yearly allowance for education, to prepare them to earn their own
bread. I feel sure you will do this, and I do deeply dread their being
thrown on Colonel Ormonde's charity; their lot would be very miserable.
My poor little boys!" Her voice broke, and she stopped abruptly.

Errington's eyes dwelt upon her, almost sternly, with the deepest
attention, while she spoke. Nor did he break silence at once; he leaned
back in his chair, resting one closed hand on the table before him. At
last he exclaimed: "I wish you had not told me this! I could not have
imagined you capable of such an act."

"And more," said Katherine; "although I wish to make what reparation I
can, had that act to be done again--even with the anticipation of this
bitter hour--I'd do it."

She looked straight into Errington's eyes, her own aflame with sudden
passion. He was silent, his brow slightly knit, a puzzled expression in
his face. The natural motion of his mind was to condemn severely such a
lawless sentiment, yet he could not resist thinking of those brilliant
speaking eyes, nor help the conviction that he had never met a real live
woman before. It was like a scene on the stage; for demonstrative
emotion always appeared theatrical to him, only it was terribly earnest
this time.

"You would not say so were you calmer," said Errington, in a curious
hesitating manner. "Why--why did you not come and tell me your need for
your uncle's money? Do you think I am so avaricious as to retain the
fortune, or all the fortune, that ought to have been yours, when I had
enough of my own?"

"How could I tell?" she cried. "If I knew you then as I do now I
_should_ have asked you, and saved my soul alive; but what did the name
of Errington convey to me? Only the idea of a greedy enemy! Are men so
ready to cast the wealth they can claim into the lap of another? When
you spoke to me that day at Castleford I thought I should have dropped
at your feet with the overpowering sense of shame