'Catherine, Catherine, for Heaven's sake desist from these appeals and arguments, which have no respect for my feelings, but which are totally useless!'

'It is those feelings to which I wish to appeal. They have slept too long; it is well for them to be roused!' cried the girl, clasping his arm with both her hands. 'You will feel remorse and sorrow all the years of your life, if Uncle Jack dies before you have made all the amends in your power!'

'_Dies!_'

The squire's face had become ashen; his repet.i.tion of the word Catherine had used betrayed the shock it had caused him.

'_Dies!_' he repeated. 'John is my junior. The chance is that I die before him.'

'No, uncle; for his life is threatened; it might end any minute, so the doctors tell him.'

There was silence in the library for a while, only the fire flickered and spluttered fiercely, and the heavy drops of a rain-storm dashed against the windows.

The squire stood erect, gazing straight before him, with not a change of one muscle of his face. Yet no one, least of all Catherine, could have seen that face without learning that a struggle and a grief were tearing his heart. While he was silent he was looking into the far past, to the childish days when Jack had been all-in-all to him, when his affection for him had been of the loyal protecting order of the elder for the younger; looking back to the youth of mutual aspirations after higher things than worldly ambition, to the confidences of young manhood, to the devotion for one woman, which had never separated them, because for each it had been equally hopeless. How Jack had proposed, after that sorrow, 'Let us keep together through life, you and I, Ross.

We shall always understand and respect one another's memories'! How the promise had been kept, even when absence made letter-writing the only method of communication! How nothing but the elder's change of disposition had weakened the old tie! Money, money, money,--this had become Ross's idol; in serving it he had lost touch with the finer nature of his soldier brother, whose loyal, pure heart had remained faithful. Then the episode of Loring Carmichael's adoption; their mutual pride in the prospects of the clever lad who was to carry the old name honourably into another generation, and keep the home and estate in order. Then Loring's favouritism for Uncle Jack; the squire's growing jealousy, and attempt to purchase his allegiance secretly. Later, Loring's choice, Loring's departure; lastly, Loring's death, and the concealed letter!

No, not lastly, for years of estrangement had followed, beginning with a mere quarrel which could easily have been made up, but which had been sealed, as it were, by the squire's act of deception, that dishonouring wrong to which he would not own.

He saw himself in his true colours now, and was bitterly shamed by the vision.

But to be ashamed, and to own to the shame, were two different things.

He contrived to hide his emotion.

'I am exceedingly sorry to hear of my brother's ill-health, Catherine.

Still, that does not efface the wrong he did me.'

'What if I can prove to you that Loring was not influenced in his final choice by Uncle Jack?'

'I fail to understand how that could be. You never met--my nephew.'

'No, uncle, but you have another nephew, who was his friend, who was with him before his death, who wrote for him two letters of farewell--one to you, one to Uncle Jack--my Cousin George in Melbourne.'

The squire's expression changed again. He glanced anxiously into Catherine's face. How much did she know? Was his wrong-doing to be exposed, brought home to him by this penniless niece, who had refused to sacrifice her sense of duty for the gain of a fortune?--this girl, whose spirit he had admired in times past?

It was too strange that she should humble him! Could he not think of any way in which to make sure of her silence?

No; for she was absolutely unselfish and honest.

There was admiration for her in his mind, even while she was so calmly defying him. Her truthful brown eyes did not falter beneath his glance; her temper was not aroused. She was simply in earnest--doing battle for Uncle Jack.

He could not think how to answer her, until she spoke again, quietly:

'I know _all_ about the quarrel, Uncle Ross. George has written to me.

The only thing I do not know is what became of Loring's letter to Uncle Jack, for it was not delivered to him.'

If Catherine had expected to break down the reserve of his manner, she was disappointed. Ross Carmichael was bent upon enduring his position as well as possible.

'The letter came here after my brother's departure, and I omitted to forward it. Had he sent for it at any time, he could have had it. It lies in the locked drawer of a bureau in the hall.'

'Will you let me take it to him?'

'Certainly.'

'Oh, uncle, George told me one sentence that is in it. Loring declared, "It is entirely owing to Uncle Ross's secret persuasion that I left home to enlist." Now that you know that Uncle Jack did not do you the injury of influencing Loring to leave you, won't you forgive and be friends with him again?'

Catherine's voice was no longer calm. Her appeal was made in impa.s.sioned tones, and her eyes were full of tears.

The squire unclasped her hands from his arm and turned away.

'If I am not mistaken, the--the position is changed between my brother and myself. John will probably be indignant because I--did not trouble to--to forward the letter. There was no absolute necessity for me to do so; it was his affair that he left me and went to live by himself.'

'Since you have wronged him, do you not wish to make amends to him?'

'That will be done--at least, the wrong will be ended when you have taken him the letter.'

'No, uncle, for he cares far more for you than he ever cared for Loring.

He longs for your love again--your confidence. Will you not make some advance to him, as he has made so many which you have ignored? Think--it is in your power to make these later years of his life happy instead of sad! Can you be so hard-hearted as not to do it?'

The squire walked away to the window, where he stood, turning his back upon his niece,--silently fighting with his feelings.

Catherine watched him, and prayed.

At last the answer came, in a voice unlike the squire's usual harsh accents.

'You shall take the letter, and you may tell John I--am sorry. I shall be in Beverbridge this evening, at the club quite near you. You can send for me if--if John wants me.'

CHAPTER XV

As G.o.d Willed

'Let me be driven down, and let your carriage wait to bring Uncle Jack back to you as soon as he has read Loring's letter. Don't you know him better than to think that he will be content to wait to answer you until this evening?' pleaded the girl, with an odd little choke in her voice.

Her mission was almost accomplished, for there was not the least doubt as to the nature of the reply one brother would make to the other. And at that instant the unexpected happened.

The library door opened, and the colonel himself stood on the threshold.

His gaze went past Catherine, to the tall, straight figure at the window.

'_Ross!_'

'_John!_'

The squire had turned; the two men stood looking at one another. The younger advanced with his right hand outstretched:

'Forgive me for coming, especially for forcing myself on you unannounced. My excuse was a telegram for Catherine. James let me in.

Don't be angry with a faithful servant on my account. Ross, I've tried before to make up the quarrel between us, but I have not tried _hard_ enough. To-day I've been reproaching myself.'