With these practical words Katherine rose to depart. Rachel followed her to the door, and timidly took her hand. "Do you understand," she said, "all you have done for me? You have given me back my human heart, instead of the iron vise that was pressing my soul to death. I will live to be worthy of you, of your infinite pity."
Katherine had hardly recovered composure when she reached home. The sad and shameful story to which she had listened had not arrested the flow of her sympathy to Rachel. There was something striking in the strength that enabled her to tell such a tale with stern justice toward herself, without any whining self-exculpation. What a long agony she must have endured! Katherine's tears were ready to flow afresh at the picture her warm imagination conjured up. Weak and guilty as Rachel was to yield to such a temptation, what was her wrong-doing to that of the man who, knowing what would be the end thereof, tempted her?
Castleford was an ordinary comfortable country house, standing in not very extensive grounds. The scenery immediately around it was flat and uninteresting, but a few miles to the south it became undulating, and broken with pretty wooded hollows, but north of it was a rich level district, and as a hunting country second only to Leicestershire.
Colonel Ormonde was a keen sportsman, and when he had reached his present grade had gladly taken up his abode in the old place, which had been let at a high rent during his term of military service. Castleford was an old place, though the house was comparatively new. It had been bought by Ormonde's grandfather, a rich manufacturer, who had built the house and made many improvements, and his representative of the third generation was considered quite one of the country gentry.
Colonel Ormonde was fairly popular. He was not obtrusively hard about money matters, but he never neglected his own interests. Then he appreciated a good glass of wine, and above all he rode straight. Mrs. Ormonde was adored by the men and liked by the women of Clayshire society, Colonel Ormonde being considered a lucky man to have picked up a charming woman whose children were provided for.
That fortunate individual was sitting at breakfast _tete-a-tete_ with his wife one dull foggy morning about a month after Katherine Liddell had returned to England. "Another cup, please," he said, handing his in. Mrs. Ormonde was deep in her letters. "What an infernal nuisance it is!" he continued, looking out of the window nearest him. "The off days are always soft and the 'meet' days hard and frosty. The scent would be breast-high to-day." Mrs. Ormonde made no reply. "Your correspondence seems uncommonly interesting!" he exclaimed, surprised at her silence.