Two hours later the last carriage had gone; the guests from out of town who were to remain at The Pines for the night had retired, and darkness and silence had gradually settled over the house. A light still burned in Mr. Underwood's private room, where he paced back and forth, his brows knit in deep thought, but his stern face lighted with a smile of intense satisfaction. Darrell, who had remained below to assist Mrs. Dean in the performance of a few last duties, having accompanied her in a final tour of the deserted rooms to make sure that all was safe, bade her good-night and went upstairs. To his surprise, Kate's library was still lighted, and through the open door he could see her at her desk writing. She looked up on hearing his step, and, as he approached, rose and came to the door. She had exchanged her evening gown for a dainty robe de chambre of white cashmere and lace, and, standing there against the background of mellow light, her hair coiled low on her neck, while numerous intractable locks curled about her ears and temples, it was small wonder that Darrell's eyes bespoke his admiration and love, even if his lips did not. "Writing at this time of night!" he exclaimed; "we supposed you asleep long ago." "Sh! don't speak so loud," she protested. "You'll have Aunt Marcia up here! I have nearly finished my writing, so you needn't scold." Glancing at the large journal lying open on her desk, Darrell asked, with a quizzical smile,-- "Couldn't that have been postponed for a few hours?" "Not to-night," she replied, with emphasis; "ordinarily, you know, it could and would have been postponed, perhaps indefinitely, but not to-night!" She glanced shyly into his eyes, and her own fell, as she added, in a lower tone,-- "To-night has memories so golden I want to preserve them before they have been dimmed by even one hour's sleep!" Darrell's face grew marvellously tender; he drew her head down upon his breast while he caressed the rippling hair with its waves of light and shade. "This night will always have golden memories for me, Kathie," he said, "and neither days nor years can ever dim their lustre; of that I am sure." Kate raised her head, drawing herself slightly away from his embrace so that she could look him in the face. "'Kathie!'" she repeated, softly; "that is the second time you have called me by that name to-night. I never heard it before; where did you get it?" "Oh, it came to me," he said, smiling; "and somehow it seemed just the name for you; but I'll not call you so unless you like it." "I do like it immensely," she replied; "I am tired of 'Kate' and 'Kittie' and Aunt Marcia's terrible 'Katherine;' I am glad you are original enough to call me by something different, but it sounds so odd; I wondered if there might have been a 'Kathie' in the past. But," she added, quickly, "I must not stay here. I just came out to say good-night to you."