A Crooked Path. Mrs. Alexander

considerable, I assure you, merely to avoid a little present annoyance."

      "It would indeed. Do not think me very weak. It is a passing fit of the dolefuls. I have had much anxiety of late, and for the moment I have a painful feeling that I have sold myself and my dear daughter into the hands of a relentless creditor; that I shall never free my neck from his yoke. I shall probably feel differently to-morrow."

      "I dare say you will. You are a lady of much imagination; a writer, your daughter tells me. Such an occupation should be an outlet for all imaginative terrors or anticipations, and leave your mind, your judgment, clear and free. I am sure Miss Liddell will do her uncle and herself good by her residence here. Mr. Liddell has been a source of anxiety to me and to my partners. We have, you know, been his legal advisers for years, and to know that he is in good hands will be a great relief. Rely on my—on our doing our best to assist your daughter in every way."

      Mrs. Liddell, perceiving the friendly spirit which actuated the precise lawyer, thanked him warmly, and after a little further discussion of details, took her way home.

      From the step she had voluntarily taken there was no retreat, nor, to do her justice, was Katherine Liddell in the least disposed to turn back, having once put her hand to the plough. Indeed the blessed castle-building powers of youth disposed her to rear airy edifices as regarded the future, which lightened the present gloom. Suppose John Liddell were to soften toward her, and make her a handsome present occasionally, or forgive this debt to her mother? What a delightful reward this would be for her temporary servitude! But though Katherine really amused herself with such fancies, they never crystallized into hope. Hope still played round her mother's chance of success with the publishers. Not that she fancied her dear mother a genius; on the contrary, because she was her mother, she probably undervalued her work; but she knew that hundreds of stories printed and paid for lacked the common-sense and humor of Mrs. Liddell's.

      How ardently she longed to give her mother something of a rest after the burden and heat of the day, which she had borne so well and so long—a spell of peaceful twilight before the gray shadows of everlasting darkness closed, or the brightness of eternal light broke upon her! Yes, she would stand four-square against the steely terrors of John Liddell's cold egotism and penuriousness, against the desolation and gloom of his forbidding abode, the crushing sordidness of an existence reduced to the merest straws of sustenance, provided she could lighten her mother's load—perhaps secure her future ease; and she would do her task well, thoroughly, keeping a steady heart and a bright face. Then, should the tide ever turn, what deep draughts of pleasure she would drink! Katherine was not socially ambitious; finery and grandeur as such did not attract her; but real joys, beauty and gayety, the company of pleasant people, i.e. people who suited her, graceful surroundings, becoming clothes, and plenty of them, all were dear and delightful to her.

      Some of these things she had tasted when she lived with her mother in the German and Italian towns where she had been chiefly educated; the rest she was satisfied to imagine. Above all, she loved to charm those with whom she associated—loved it in a half-unconscious way. Were it to a poor blind beggar woman, or a little crossing sweeper, she would speak as gently and modulate her voice as carefully as to the most brilliant partner or the greatest lady. This might be tenderness of nature, or the profound instinct to win liking and admiration. As yet it was quite instinctive; but if hurt or offended she could feel resentment very vividly, and was by no means too ready to forgive.

      Unfortunately she started with a strong prejudice against her uncle, and sometimes rehearsed in her own mind exceedingly fine speeches which she would have liked to address to her miserly relative on the subject of his cruelty to his son, his avarice, his egotism.

      Still a strain of pity ran through her meditations. Was life worth living, spent as his was? How far had his nature been warped by his wife's desertion?

      It was an extraordinary experience to Katherine, this packing up of her belongings to quit her home. She took as little as she could help, to keep up the idea that she was entering on a very temporary engagement; besides, as she meant to adhere rigidly to her right of a weekly visit to her mother, she could always get what she wanted.

      After Mrs. Liddell, Katherine found it hardest to part with the boys, specially little Charlie, whose guardian and champion she had constituted herself. Her sister-in-law had rather an irritating effect upon her, of which she was a little ashamed, and whenever she had spoken sharply, which she did occasionally, she was ready to atone for it by doing some extra service, so that, on the whole, the pretty little widow got a good deal more out of her sister than out of her mother-in-law.

      But meditations, resolutions, regrets, and preparations notwithstanding, the day of Katherine's departure arrived. It was a bright, glowing afternoon, and the Thursday fixed for the boating party. Mrs. Liddell junior had expended much eloquence to no purpose, as she well knew it would be, in trying to persuade her sister-in-law to postpone the commencement of what the little widow was pleased to call her "penal servitude," and accompany her to Twickenham.

      She departed, however, without her, looking her very best, and uttering many promises to come and see Katie soon, to try her powers of pleasing on that dreadful old uncle of ours, to bring the dear boys, and see if they would not cut out their aunty, etc.

      Mrs. Liddell and her daughter were most thankful to have the last few hours together, and yet they said little, and that chiefly respecting past days which they had enjoyed together—little excursions on the Elbe or in the neighborhood of Florence; a couple of months once passed at Siena, which was a mental epoch to Katherine, who was then about fifteen; promises to write; and tender queries on the mother's side if she had remembered this or that.

      The little boys clung to her, Charlie in tears, Cecil very solemn. Both had taken up the sort of camera-obscura image of their elders' views which children contrive to obtain so mysteriously without hearing anything distinct concerning them, and both considered "Uncle John" a sort of modern ogre, only restrained by the policeman outside from making a daily meal of the nearest infant school, and sure to gobble up aunty some day. Charlie trembled at the thought; Cecil pondered profoundly how, by the judicious arrangement of a trap-door in the middle of his room, he might carry out the original idea of Jack the Giant-Killer.

      "Pray don't think of coming with me, mother," said Katherine, seeing Mrs. Liddell take out her bonnet. "I could not bear to think of your lonely drive back. Trust me to myself. I am not going to be either frightened or cast down, and I will write to-morrow."

      "Then I must let you go, darling! On Sunday next, Katie, we shall see you."

      A long, fond embrace, and Mrs. Liddell was indeed alone.

CHAPTER VI.

       Table of Contents

"SHIFTING SCENES."

       Table of Contents

      Parting is often worst to those who stay behind. Imagination paints the trials and difficulties of the one who has put out to sea as far worse than the reality, while variety and action brace the spirit of him who goes forth.

      Katherine's reception, however, was paralyzing enough.

      Nothing was in her favor save the mellow brightness of the fine warm evening, though from its south-east aspect the parlor at Legrave Crescent was already in shadow. There, in his usual seat beside the fire—for, though a miser, John Liddell had a fire summer and winter—sat the old man watching the embers, in himself a living refrigerator.

      "You are late!" was his greeting, in a low, cold voice. "I have been expecting you. The woman Newton found for me has been up and down with a dozen questions I cannot answer. I must be saved from this; I will not be disturbed. Go and see what she wants; then, if there is more food to be cooked, come to me for money. Mark! no more bills. I will give you what cash you want each day, so long as you do not ask too much."