A Crooked Path | Page 5

can prompt, till in spite of the cloud and thick
darkness that hid her future, Mrs. Liddell was calmed by the delicious
sense of her daughter's love and sympathy.
"I will make a list of editors," said Katherine--"I mean those whom you
have not tried--and go round to them myself. Perhaps I may bring you

luck."
"Yes; your young life is more likely to have fortune on its side: the
fickle jade has forsaken me."
Katherine made no reply beyond a gentle kiss. She sat silently by her
mother's side, till feeling the hand that held hers relax its hold, she
slowly and softly withdrew her own, comforted to perceive that balmy
sleep had stolen upon the weary woman.
Still she sat there thinking with all the force of her young brain, partly
remembering, partly anticipating.
Of her father she had scarce any knowledge. She was but four years old
when he died, and her only brother was nearly fourteen. The eldest and
youngest of Mrs. Liddell's children were the survivors of several.
Katherine's memory of her childish days presented the dim picture of a
quaint foreign town; of blue skies, bright sunshine, and abundant
vegetation; of large rooms and a smiling black-eyed attendant in a
peculiar head-dress; of some one lying back in a large chair, near whom
she must never make a noise. Then came a change; mother always in
black, with a white cap, and often weeping, and of colder winters, snow
and skating--a happy time, for she was always with mother both in
lesson and play time, whilst Fred used to go away early to school. Next,
clear and distinct, was the recollection of her first visit to London, and
from this time she was the companion and confidante of her mother.
They were poor--at least every outlay had to be carefully
considered--but Katie never knew the want of money. Then came the
excitement and preparation attending Fred's departure for India, the
mixture of sorrow and satisfaction with which her mother parted from
him, of how bitterly she had cried herself; for though somewhat
tyrannical, Fred had been always kind and generous.
How well she remembered the day he had left them never to
return--how her mother had clasped her to her heart and exclaimed:
"You must be all in all to me now, Katie. I have done but little for you
yet, dear, Fred needed so much."

A spell of happy, busy life in Germany followed, enlivened by long
letters from the young Indian officer, whose career seemed full of
promise. But when Katherine was a little more than thirteen sorrow fell
upon them. Fred's letters had become irregular; then came a confession
of weakness and debt, crowned by the supreme folly of marriage,
concluding with a prayer for help.
Mrs. Liddell was cruelly disappointed. She had hoped and expected
much from her boy. She believed he was doing so well! She told all to
Katie, who heartily agreed with her that Fred must be helped. Some of
their slender capital was sold out and sent to him, while mother and
daughter cheerfully accepted the loss of many trifling indulgences,
drawing the narrow limits of their expenditure closer still, content and
free from debt, though as time went on Katherine cast many a longing
glance at the world of social enjoyment in which their poverty forbade
her to triumph.
Mrs. Liddell had always loved literature, and her husband had been an
accomplished though a reckless and self-indulgent man. She had
wandered a good deal with him, and had seen a great variety of people
and places. It occurred to her to try her pen as a means of adding to her
income, and after some failures she succeeded with one or two of the
smaller weekly periodicals. This induced her to return to London,
hoping to do better in that great centre of work. Here the tidings of her
son's death overwhelmed her. Next came an imploring letter from the
young widow, who had no near relatives, praying to be allowed to live
with her and Katherine--sharing expenses--as the pension to which an
officer's widow and orphans were entitled insured her a small
provision.
So Mrs. Liddell again roused herself, and managed to furnish very
scantily the little home where Katherine sat thinking. But the addition
to their income was but meagre compared to the expenses which
followed in the train of Mrs Frederic Liddell and her two "little Indian
boys."
All the efforts of the practical mother and daughter did not suffice to
keep within the limits they dreaded to overpass. Mrs. Liddell's pen

became more than ever essential to the maintenance of the household,
while the younger widow considered herself a martyr to the most
sordid, the most unnecessary stinginess.
A tapping at the door and