"
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.
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