LITMIR.BIZ

      "Now let me come there!" he exclaimed. "I'll let no one sign my name. I'll manage that. There? there! Direct an envelope. Oh Lord! I haven't a stamp—not one! and its ten minutes' walk to the post-office."

      "I think—I believe I have a stamp," said Katherine, drawing her slender purse from her pocket and opening it.

      "Have you?" eagerly. "Give it to me. Stick it on! Go! go! There is a pillar just outside the left-hand gate there; and mind you come back. I will give you a penny. Ah, yes, you shall have your penny?"

      "I hope you will hear me when I return," she said, appealingly, as she left the room.

      "Ay, ay; but go—go now."

      When Katherine returned she found the old man, with the half-opened door in his hand, waiting for her.

      "Were you in time?" he asked, eagerly.

      "Oh yes, quite. I saw the postman coming across the road to empty the box as I was dropping the letter in."

      "That's well. I will rest a bit now, and you can tell me what you please. First, what have you come here for?"

      It was an appalling question, and nothing but the simple truth occurred to her as an answer. Indeed, some irresistible power seemed to compel the reply, spoken very low and distinct, "I came here to beg."

      The old man burst into a singularly unpleasant laugh. "Well, I like candor. Pray what business have you to beg from me?"

      "Because I know no one else to turn to—because, you are so near a kinsman. Let me tell you about my mother." Simply and shortly she gave the history of their life and struggles, of the coming of her brother's young widow and orphans, of the disappointment of her mother's literary expectations, of the present necessity. The quiver in her young voice, the pathetic earnestness with which she told her story, the deep love for her mother breathing through the recital, might well have moved a heart of ordinary coldness, but it seemed to small impression on her grim uncle.

      "You come of a wasteful extravagant lot," he said, faintly, "if you are what you represent yourself to be—of which there is no proof whatever. How do I know you are the daughter of Frederic Liddell?"

      This was an objection Katherine had never anticipated, and knew not how to meet. She colored vividly and hesitated; then, struck with the ghastly pallor of the old man's face, she exclaimed, "You are ill! you are fainting!" drawing near him as she spoke.

      "I am not ill," he gasped. "I am weak from want of food. I have tasted none since yesterday afternoon."

      "Will you not order some?" said Katherine, looking round for a bell.

      "There is nothing in the house. That drunken robber I have just driven out went off to her revels last night and left me without anything; but while she was away a tradesman came with a bill I thought was paid, and so I discovered all her iniquity."

      "You must have something," cried Katherine, seriously alarmed. "Can I get you some wine or brandy?" and she rang hastily.

      Mr. Liddell drew a bunch of keys from his trousers pocket, and feebly selecting one, put it in her hand, pointing to the sideboard.

      The first cellaret Katherine opened was quite empty, the opposite one held two empty bottles covered with dust, and another, at the bottom of which was about a wineglass of brandy. She sought eagerly for and found a glass, and brought it to the fainting man, pouring out a small quantity, which he sipped readily enough. "Ah!" he said, "I was nearly gone. I must eat. I suppose that wretched brat can cook something. Ring again." Katherine rang, and rang, but in vain.

      "May I go down and see what has become of her?"

      "If you please," he murmured, more civilly than he had yet spoken.

      Katherine, with increasing surprise and interest, descended the dingy stair and entered a chaotic kitchen.

      Such a scene of dirt and confusion she had never beheld. Nothing seemed fit to touch. The little girl's rough apron lay on the floor in the midst, and she herself was tying on a big bonnet, while a small bundle lay on a chair beside her. She started and colored when Katherine stood in the doorway. "Mr. Liddell has sent me to look for you. He is very ill. Why did you not answer the bell?"

      "Because I was going away to mother," cried the girl, bursting into tears. "I could not stay here by myself. Mr. Liddell is more like a wild beast than a man when he is angry, and I have had a night and a day as would frighten a policemen. I can't stay—I can't indeed, miss."

      "But you must," said Katherine, impressively. "I am Mr. Liddell's niece, and at least you must do a few things for me before you go."

      "Oh! if you are here, miss, I don't mind. I can't think as how you are Mr. Liddell's niece."

      "I am, and I must not leave him till he is better. What is your name?"

      "Susan, ma'am."

      "Well, Susan, is there any bread or anything in the larder?"

      "Not a blessed scrap, miss, and I am so hungry"—a fresh burst of tears.

      "Don't cry. Do as I bid you, and then you had better ask your mother to come here. Now get me some fresh water."

      "There's only water in the tap; the filterer is broke."

      "Well, give me a jugful. And are you too hungry to make up the fire?"

      "I'll manage that, 'm; we had a hundred of coal in yesterday morning before the row."

      "Then clear away the ashes and get as clear a fire as you can. I will get some food."

      The desperate, deserted condition of the old man seemed to rob him of his terrors, and all Katherine's energy was roused to save him from the ill effects of his own fury. She hastened back to the dining-room. Mr. Liddell was sitting up, grasping the arms of his chair.

      "There is nothing downstairs. Will you allow me to go and buy you some food? You will be ill unless you eat."

      "Can't that child fetch what is needful?" he said, with an effort.

      "I am afraid she may not return."

      "Then you had better go. I'll open the door to you when you come back."

      "I will go at once. But you must give me a little money. I would gladly pay for the things, but I have only my omnibus fare back."

      "How much do you want?" he returned, drawing forth an old worn green porte-monnaie.

      "If you will be satisfied with a chop, two shillings will get all you want," said Katherine.

      "There, then; bring me the change and account," he returned, handing her the required sum.

      Since her mother had become a housekeeper Katherine had done a good deal of the marketing and household management, and had put her heart into her work, as was natural to her. She therefore felt quite competent to make these small purchases.

      "You will want a little more wine or something," she ventured to suggest.

      "I have plenty—plenty. Make haste!"

Скачать книгу