Rachel Trant listened with rapt, intense attention, nor did she interrupt the narrative by a single question.

When Katherine ceased to speak she remained silent for a second or two longer:  then she asked, “Are you convinced of the truth of this man’s story?”

“I am, for Mr. Newton does not seem to have a doubt.  Oh! he is my uncle John’s only son—­only child, indeed—­and he is like him.  I always fancied from the little my uncle said about George that he was naturally kind and sympathetic, but he has had a hard life, and it has made him hard.  The loss of his mother was a terrible misfortune.”

“Was he young when she died?”

“He was about fourteen, I think; but he lost her by a worse misfortune than death.  She was driven away by my uncle’s severity and harshness; she left him for another.”

“What! left her son?”

“Yes—­it seems incredible—­nor does my cousin resent her desertion.  On the contrary, all the affection and softness in him appears to centre round his daughter and the memory of his mother.”

“Then,” said Rachel, “if this man persists in demanding his rights, you will be beggared, and those dear boys must go back to their mother.  They will not be too welcome.”

“Oh no! no!  I feel that only too keenly.”

“But you will not be penniless nor homeless,” cried Rachel.  “He cannot touch this house.  You made it over to me, and I will use it for you.  There are two nice rooms I can arrange for you upstairs.  I am doing well, and if I had but a little more capital, I should not fear; I should not doubt making a great success.  My dear, dearest Miss Liddell, I may be of use to you, after all.  Tell me, is this Mr. Newton truly interested in you—­anxious to help you?”

“I am sure he is; he is very unhappy about me.”

“Do you think he would let me call on him?  I want to tell him the plans that are coming into my head.  I can explain all the business part to him.  If I can get through this year without debt, I am pretty sure of providing you with an income—­an increasing income.  This is a joy I never anticipated.  And then you can keep your little nephews, and be a real mother to them.  I don’t want to trouble you with the business details of my plan; you would not understand them.  But Mr. Newton will.  Pray write a line asking him to see me, to name his own time.  Stay; here are paper and pen and ink; ask him to write to me.  He knows—­he knows my story.  At least—­” She stopped, coloring crimson.

“He knows all it is needful for me to tell,” said Katherine, gravely.  “Yes, Rachel, it is better to explain all to him.  He is kind and wise, and I am strangely stupefied by this extraordinary overturn of my fortunes.  I shall be glad of your help, but do not neglect your own future, dear Rachel.”

“I shall not:  I shall make enough for us both.  You have indeed given me something to live for.”