y Westerfield were still guiltless of the injury
inflicted on her at a later time. Silently he took the letter from her,
and read it.

She kept her face turned away from him and from the light. The effort to
be still calm and reasonable--to suffer the heart-ache, and not to let
the suffering be seen--made cruel demands on the self-betraying nature
of a woman possessed by strong emotion. There was a moment when she
heard him sigh while he was reading. She looked round at him, and
instantly looked away again.

He rose and approached her; he held out the letter in one hand, and
pointed to it with the other. Twice he attempted to speak. Twice the
influence of the letter unmanned him.

It was a hard struggle, but it was for her sake: he mastered his
weakness, and forced his trembling voice to submit to his will.

"Is the man whom you are going to marry worthy of _this?_" he asked,
still pointing to the letter.

She answered, firmly: "More than worthy of it."

"Marry him, Catherine--and forget Me."

The great heart that he had so sorely wounded pitied him, forgave him,
answered him with a burst of tears. She held out one imploring hand.

His lips touched it--he was gone.

Chapter LI. Dum Spiro, Spero.

Brisk and smiling, Mrs. Presty presented herself in the waiting-room.
"We have got rid of our enemy!" she announced, "I looked out of the
window and saw him leaving the hotel." She paused, struck with the
deep dejection expressed in her daughter's attitude. "Catherine!"
she exclaimed, "I tell you Herbert has gone, and you look as if you
regretted it! Is there anything wrong? Did my message fail to bring him
here?"

"No."

"He was bent on mischief when I saw him last. Has he told Bennydeck of
the Divorce?"

"No."

"Thank Heaven for that! There is no one to be afraid of now. Where is
the Captain?"

"He is still in the sitting-room."

"Why don't you go to him?"

"I daren't!"

"Shall I go?"

"Yes--and give him this."

Mrs. Presty took the letter. "You mean, tear it up," she said, "and
quite right, too."

"No; I mean what I say."

"My dear child, if you have any regard for yourself, if you have any
regard for me, don't ask me to give Bennydeck this mad letter! You won't
hear reason? You still insist on it?"

"I do."

"If Kitty ever behaves to you, Catherine, as you have behaved to me--you
will have richly deserved it. Oh, if you were only a child again, I'd
beat it out of you--I would!"