A Crooked Path. Mrs. Alexander

have been explaining to Mr. Liddell," said the lawyer, turning to Katherine, "that it would be well to let me give you the house-keeping money for the present, so that he need not be troubled about anything except to get well; and when well, my dear sir, you really must go out. Fresh air—"

      "Fresh fiddle-sticks," interrupted the old man; "I have been well for years without going out, and I'll not begin now. I'll give in to everything else; only, if I am obliged to take costly food as a medicine, I expect the rest of the household to live as carefully as ever."

      "I shall do my best, uncle," said Katherine, softly.

      After a little more conversation the lawyer took his leave, and then Katherine applied herself to read the papers which had been neglected.

      It was not till toward evening she was able to write a few lines to her mother describing Mr. Liddell's illness, and begging she would come to see her on Saturday, as she (Katherine) could not absent herself while her uncle was so unwell.

      After this things went on much as usual, only Mr. Liddell never resumed his habits of early rising; he was a shade less cold too, though at times terribly irritable.

      He took the food prepared for him obediently enough, but with evident want of appetite, rarely finishing what was provided.

      Mr. Newton generally called every week, and Katherine wrote to him besides; she was strict in insisting on the audit of her accounts, which the accurate lawyer sometimes praised. By judicious accounts of Fergusson, the other surviving member of the Tontine, he managed to keep his client in tolerable order. Katherine, though grateful to him for his friendly help, little knew how strenuously he strove to lengthen the old miser's days, hoping he would make some provision for his niece, while he dared not offer any suggestion on the subject, lest it should produce an effect contrary to what he desired.

      Mrs. Fred Liddell was bitterly disappointed by the result of her visit to the rich uncle. A good deal, indeed, hung upon it. A wealthy succession was certainly a thing to be devoutly wished for in itself, but the sharp little widow felt that provision for her boys and a dowry for herself meant marriage, if she chose, with Colonel Ormonde.

      And she very decidedly did wish it. Her imagination, which was vivid enough of its kind, was captivated by the Colonel's imposing "bow-wow" manner, the idea of a country place—an old family place too—by his diamond ring and florid compliments, his self-satisfied fastidiousness and his social position. In short, to her he seemed a fashionable hero; but she was quite sure he never would hamper himself with two little portionless boys. Ada Liddell was by no means unkind to her children; she was ready to pet them when they met, and give them what did not cost her too much; but she considered them a terrible disadvantage, and herself a most generous and devoted mother.

      The day after she had been so ignominiously expelled from John Liddell's house she put on the prettiest thing she possessed in the way of a bonnet—a contrivance of black lace and violets—and having inspected the turn-out of the children's maid in her best go-to-meeting attire, also the putting on of the boys' newest sailor suits, the curling of their hair, and many minor details, she sallied forth across Kensington Gardens to the ride, feeling tolerably sure that, in consequence of a hint she had dropped a day or two before, when taking afternoon tea in Mrs. Burnett's drawing-room, Colonel Ormonde would probably be amongst the riders on his powerful chestnut, ready to receive her report. She was quite sure he was very much smitten, and eager to know what her chances with old Liddell might be; and as her mother-in-law had a bad habit of presiding over her own tea-table, it would be more convenient to talk with her gay Lothario in the Park.

      Many admiring glances were cast upon the pretty little woman in becoming half-mourning, with the two golden-haired, sweet-looking children and their trim maid, which did not escape their object, and put her into excellent spirits. She felt she had gone forth conquering and to conquer. About half-way down the row she recognized a well-known figure on a mighty horse, who cantered up to where she stood, followed by a groom.

      "Good-morning, Mrs. Liddell; I thought this piece of fine weather would tempt you out," cried Colonel Ormonde, dismounting and throwing his rein to the groom, who led away the horse as if in obedience to some previously given command. "I protest you are a most tantalizing little woman!" he exclaimed, when they had shaken hands and he had patted the children's heads. "I have been looking for you this half-hour. Where did you hide yourself?"

      "I did not hide myself. I am dying to tell you about my uncle."

      "Ah! was he all your prophetic soul painted him?"

      "He was, and a good deal more. He is quite an ogre, and lives in a miserable hovel. How Katherine can degrade herself by grovelling there with him for the sake of what she can get passes my understanding."

      "Deuced plucky, sensible girl! She is quite right to stick to the old boy. Hope she will get his cash. Gad! with her eyes and his thousands, she'd rouse up society!"

      "Well, I believe she intends to have them all. She was quite vexed at my going over to see the ogre, and I think has prejudiced him against my poor darling boys, for as soon as he saw them he called out that he could not receive any one, that he was ill and nervous. But I smiled my very best smile, and said I had come to introduce myself, and I hoped he would let me have a little talk with him. The poor old ogre looked at me rather kindly and earnestly when I said that, and I really do think he would have listened to me, but my sister-in-law would make me come away, as if the sight of me was enough to frighten a horse from his oats; so somehow we got hustled upstairs, and there was an end of it."

      "Ah, Mrs. Liddell, you ought not to have allowed yourself to be outmanœuvred," cried the Colonel, who greatly enjoyed irritating his pretty little friend. "Your belle-sœur (as she really is) is too many for you. Don't you give up; try again when the adorable Katherine is out of the way."

      "I fully intend to do so, I assure you," cried Mrs. Frederic, her eyes sparkling, her heart beating with vexation, but determined to keep up the illusion of ingratiating herself with the miserly uncle. "Pray remember this is only a first attempt."

      "I am sure you have my devout wishes for your success. How this wretched old hunk can resist such eyes, such a smile, as yours, is beyond my comprehension. If such a niece attacked me, I should surrender at the first demand."

      "I don't think you would"—a little tartly. "I think you have as keen a regard for your own interest as most men."

      "I am sure you would despise me if I had not, and the idea of being despised by you is intolerable."

      "You know I do not"—very softly. "But it is time I turned and went toward home."

      "Nonsense, my dear Mrs. Liddell! or, if you will turn, let it be round Kensington Gardens. Do you know, I am going to Scotland next week, to Sir Ralph's moor; then I expect a party to meet Errington at my own place early in September; so I shall not have many chances of seeing you until I run up just before Christmas. Now I am going to ask a great favor. It's so hard to get a word with you except under the Argus eyes of that mother-in-law of yours."

      "What can it be?" opening her eyes.

      "Come with me to see this play they have been giving at the Adelphi. I have never had a spare evening to see it. We'll leave early, and have a snug little supper at Verey's, and I'll see you home."

      "It would be delightful, but out of the question, I am afraid: Mrs. Liddell has such severe ideas, and I dare not offend her."

      "Why need she know anything about it? Say—oh, anything—that you are going with the Burnetts: they have gone to the Italian lakes, but I don't suppose she knows."

      The temptation was great, but the little widow was no fool in some ways. She saw her way to make something of an impression on her worldly admirer.

      "No, Colonel Ormonde," she said, shaking her head, while she permitted the "suspicious moisture" to gather in her eyes. "It would indeed be a treat to a poor little recluse like me, but though there is not a bit of harm in it, or you would not ask me, I am sure, I must not offend my mother-in-law; and though