Katherine slipped her arm through her mother's and pressed it lovingly as they walked to the Metropolitan station for their return journey. "Now, dear, you will have a little peace," she said.
"Dear-bought peace, my darling. I cannot reconcile myself to such a fate for you."
"It is indeed. I will pay the rent to-day, and to-morrow I will give Ada her money. That will be an infinite relief. And still I shall have a few pounds left. Katie dear, is it not too dreadful, the prospect of eating, drinking, sleeping, and beginning _di nuovo_ each morning in that gloomy house? How shall you bear it?"
"You shall see. If I can have a little chat with you every week I shall be able for a good deal. Then, remember, the book still remains. When that succeeds we may snap our fingers at rich uncles."
"When that time comes," interrupted her mother, "you will be tied to the poor old miser by habit and the subtle claims which pity and comprehension weave round the sympathetic."
"Oh, if I ever grow to like him it will simplify matters very much. I almost hope I may, but it is not likely. How strange it will be to live in a different house from you! How dreadfully the boys will tease you when I am away! Come; suppose we go and see the _Cheerful Visitor_--the editor, I mean--before we return, and then we can say we _have_ been to a publisher. I really do not think Ada knows the difference between an editor and a publisher."
"Very likely; nor would you, probably, if you had not a mother who scribbles weak fiction."
"It is a great deal better than much that is published and paid for," said Katherine, emphatically.
"Ah! Kate, when money has long been scarce you get into a bad habit of estimating things merely at their market value. However, let us visit the _Cheerful Visitor_ on our homeward way. Of course we must tell Ada of the impending change, but we need not explain too much."
The journey back was less silent. Both mother and daughter were oppressed by the task undertaken by the latter. But Katherine was successful in concealing the dismay with which she contemplated a residence with John Liddell. "Whatever happens, I must not seem afraid of him or _be_ afraid of him," she thought, with instinctive perception. "I will try to do what is just and right, and leave the rest to Providence. It must be a great comfort to have faith--to believe that if you do the right thing you will be directed and assisted by God. What strength it would give! But I haven't faith. I cannot believe that natural laws will ever be changed for me, and I _know_ that good, honest, industrious creatures die of hunger every day. No matter. Do rightly, come what may, is the motto of every true soul. I don't suppose I shall melt this old man's stony heart, but I will do my best for him. His has been a miserable life in spite of his money. There is so much money cannot buy!"