shilling, that--that--"
Then breaking off, with an air of the deepest pathos he exclaimed:
"Thirty shillings a week I gave her to keep the house, and she has left
the butcher unpaid for six months. But _I_ will not pay him. He shall
suffer. Why did he trust her? What did you pay for these things?" he
ended, abruptly, in a high key.

Katherine silently handed him the back of a letter on which she had
scribbled down the items.

"What is the use of showing me this, when I cannot read--when I have no
glasses?" he exclaimed, impatiently.

"True. I must try and find them for you. Where did you first miss them?"

"Oh, I don't know. I had them on when I went to see that----woman out
of the house."

Calling Susan to assist in the search, Katherine looked carefully in the
hall, but in vain, when her young assistant gave a cry of joy; she had
almost trodden on them as they lay between a mangy mat and the foot of
the stairs.

The recovery of his precious glasses did more to soothe the ruffled
spirit of the recluse than anything else. He wiped them tenderly, and
looking through them, observed that they were all right. Then he sat in
profound silence, while Susan, under Katherine's directions, cleared up
the hearth, and removed the heap of dust and ashes which had nearly put
out the fire. When she had retired, carrying off the tray, Mr. Liddell
turned his keen eyes on his young visitor, and said:

"You came in the nick of time, and you seem to know what you are about;
but I dare say I should have pulled through without you. Now about your
story. Before anything else I must be assured that you are really
Frederic Liddell's daughter. Not that your being so gives you the
smallest claim upon me."

"I suppose it does not," returned Katherine, sadly. "Still, if you could
help us with a loan at this trying time it might be the saving of our
fortunes, and both my mother and myself would do our best to repay you."

"That's but indifferent security," said the miser with a sardonic grin.

"I feel sure that my mother's novel will succeed. It is a beautiful
story--and you know how some of the best books have been rejected--and
when it is taken they will give her at least a hundred pounds for it!"
cried Katherine, eagerly.

"Good Lord! a hundred pounds for trashy scribblings."

"They are not trash, sir," returned Katherine, with spirit.

"And what sum do you want on this first-class security?" he asked.

"Oh, thirty or forty poun