"I have no doubt you will state your case clearly and well," returned Mr. Newton, rising to shake hands with her. "Let me hear what Mrs. Ormonde says in reply; and see your protegee, Miss Trant. I am anxious to learn her views." "I am quite sure I know what they will be," said Katherine. "Don't be too sure. Human nature is a very crooked thing--more crooked than a true heart like yours can imagine," continued the old man, holding her hand kindly. "Ah, Mr. Newton," she cried, with an irresistible outburst of penitence, "you little know what crooked things I can imagine." "Can't I?" he said laughing at what he fancied was her little joke, and glad to see her bearing her troubles so lightly. "You'll come all right yet, my dear; you have the right spirit. Is your carriage waiting?" "Not here; but in Holborn I have several at my command," she returned. "Good-by; no, you must not come downstairs; it is damp and chilly." On reaching her home, the home she must so soon resign, Katherine sent a note to Rachel Trant asking if she had a spare hour that evening, as she, Katherine, had something to tell her, and preferred going to her house. Then she sat down to write a full and detailed account of what had taken place to her sister-in-law. It was dusk before she had finished and she herself felt considerably exhausted. Miss Payne had gone out to dine with one of her former girls, now the wife of a rackety horsy man, whose conduct made her often look back with a sigh of regret to the tranquil days passed under the guardianship of the prudent spinster; so having partaken of tea at their usual dinner-time she sat and mused awhile on the one subject from which she could derive comfort--Errington and his wonderful kindness to her. If he took the matter in hand she thought herself safe. Her confidence in him was unbounded. Ah! why had she placed such a gulf between them? How she had destroyed her own life! There was but one tie between her and the world, little Charlie and Cis, and perhaps she had been their greatest enemy. She almost wished she could love De Burgh. He was undoubtedly in earnest; he interested her; he--But no. Between her and any possible husband she had reared the insurmountable barrier of a secret not to be shared by any save one, from whom, somehow, instead of dividing her, had bound her indissolubly; at least she felt it to be so. It was near the hour she had fixed to call on Rachel, so she roused herself, and asking the amiable Francois to accompany her, started for Malden Street. Rachel Trant had made a back parlor, designated the "trying-on" room, bright and cosy, with a shaded lamp, a red fire, a couple of easy-chairs at either side of it, and a gay cloth over the small round table erst strewn with fashion books, measuring tapes, pins, patterns and pin-cushions.