knelt now, and took one of
her mother's hands between her own. Insensibly the cold hand was
comforted by the warm steadfast clasp.

"You are a good child, Kate," said her mother in an unwonted and gentle
voice. "You are full of whims and fancies; but when you like you can be
a great support to one. Do you remember long ago when your father died
how only little Kitty's hand could cure mother's headaches?"

"I would cure your heartache now."

"You can't, child, you can't. And besides, who said anything about a
heartache? We have no time, Kate, to talk any more sentimentalities. I
have had a letter, my dear, and it obliges me to go to town to-night."

"To-night? Surely there is no train?"

"There is. One stops at Northbury to take up the mails at a quarter to
twelve. I shall go by it."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"By no means. Of what use would you be?"

"I don't know. Perhaps not of any use, and yet long ago when you had
headaches, Kitty could cure them."

There was something so pathetic and so unwonted in Catherine's tone that
Mrs. Bertram was quite touched. She bent forward, placed her hand under
the young chin, raised the handsome face, and printed a kiss on the
brow.

"Kitty shall help her mother best by staying at home," she said.
"Seriously, my love. I must leave you in charge here. Not only in charge
of the house, of the servants, of Mabel--but--of my secret."

"What secret, mother?"

"I don't want any one here to know that I have gone to London."

Catherine thought a moment.

"I know you are not going to give me your reasons," she said, after a
pause. "But why do you tell me there is a secret?"

"Because you are trustworthy."

"Why do tell _me_ that you are going to London?"

"Because you must be prepared to act in an emergency."

"Mother, what do you mean?"

"I will tell you enough of my meaning to guide you, my love. I have had
some news that troubles me. I am going to London to try and put some
wrong things right. You need not look so horrified, Kate; I shall
certainly put them right. It might complicate matters in certain
quarters if it were known that I had gone to London, therefore I do it
secretly. It is necessary, however, that one person should know where to
write to me. I choose you to be that person, Catherine, but you are only
to send me a letter in case of need."

"If we are ill, or anything of that sort, mother?"

"Nothing of that sort. You and Mabel are in superb h