He paused a moment and dropped the hand he had taken. Under cover of the shadows Kate's tears were falling unchecked; one, falling on Darrell's hand, had warned him that there must be no weakening, no softening. His voice was almost stern as he resumed. "For those few hours I forgot that I was a being apart from the rest of the world, exiled to darkness and oblivion; forgot the obligations to myself and to others which my own condition imposes upon me. But the dream passed; I awoke to a realization of what I had done, and whatever I have suffered since is but the just penalty of my folly. The worst of all is that I have involved you in needless suffering; I have won your love only to have to put it aside--to renounce it. But even this is better--far better than to allow your young life to come one step farther within the clouds that envelop my own. Do you understand me now, Kathie?" "Yes," she replied, calmly; "I understand it from your view, as it looks to you." "But is not that the only view?" She did not speak at once, and when she did it was with a peculiar deliberation. "The clouds will lift one day; what then?" Darrell's voice trembled with emotion as he replied, "We cannot trust to that, for neither you nor I know what the light will reveal." She remained silent, and Darrell, after a pause, continued: "Don't make it harder for me, Kathie; there is but one course for us to follow in honor to ourselves or to each other." They sat in silence for a few moments; then both rose simultaneously to return to the house, and as they did so Darrell was conscious of a new bearing in Kate's manner,--an added dignity and womanliness. As they faced one another Darrell took both her hands in his, saying,-- "What is it to be, Kathie? Can we return to the old friendship?" She stood for a moment with averted face, watching the stars brightening one by one in the evening sky. "No," she said, presently, "we can never return to that now; it would seem too bare, too meagre. There will always be something deeper and sweeter than mere friendship between us,--unless you fail me, and I know you will not." "And do you forgive me?" he asked. She turned then, looking him full in the eyes, and her own seemed to have caught the radiance of the stars themselves, as she answered, simply,-- "No, John Darrell, for there is nothing to forgive." _Chapter XVII_ "SHE KNOWS HER FATHER'S WILL IS LAW" Though the succeeding days and weeks dragged wearily for Darrell, he applied himself anew to work and study, and only the lurking shadows within his eyes, the deepening lines on his face, the fast multiplying gleams of silver in his dark hair, gave evidence of his suffering.