"But you could not agree to share it with him. He is a good fellow, Linda, and I am very sorry for him. He was greatly cut up." "How do you know?" "He told me." "That--" "That he had asked you to marry him? Yes, he told me that. Poor old chap. I grew quite fond of him. Why didn't you, Linda?" "I don't know. I didn't; that's all; I didn't, though I tried very hard." "Don't you think he was actually heroic to give up the claim?" "I am sure he meant to be, but of course you understand that I could not accept such a sacrifice from him and that if the law were to give him a right to Talbot's Angles, I couldn't think of doing anything but giving it up to him." "But he refuses to allow me to go on. I have the papers and I am to burn them if I choose." Linda smiled, a little mysterious, exultant smile. "That doesn't alter my point of view." "And so you refuse to allow him to be a hero." "He isn't the only hero in the world. He himself told me of another." There was a wise, kind expression in her eyes. Berkley slipped down from the window seat to a cushion at her feet. She bent over him as a mother over her child. "Linda," he said whisperingly. "Linda." He took her soft hand in his strong lithe fingers, and she let it lie there. He pressed the cool little hand against his hot brow, then he looked up. "Linda," he repeated, "here I am at your feet. I love you so! Oh, how I love you! I know I don't deserve it, but do you think you could ever learn to care a little for me? I am not rich, but some day maybe I could buy back Talbot's Angles. There is nothing I would not do to make you happy." "You said that once before, Berk." "Did I?" "Yes,--that night in the rain." "I meant it." "As much as you do now?" "Every bit." "And yet you avoided me, passed me by, allowed another to step in." "It was for you, for you. I wanted you to be happy," he murmured. "I see that now, but I missed my friend." "Your friend? Am I never to be anything more, Linda? I love you with my whole heart. You are the one woman in the world to me. Don't you think that some day you might learn to love me a little?" Linda's face was aglow with a tender light; her eyes were like stars. "No, Berk," she said slowly, lingeringly, "I could never learn to love you a little." He dropped her hand and looked down, all the hope gone from his face. "Because," Linda went on, bending a little nearer that he could hear her whisper, "I already love you so much." He gave a little joyous cry and sprang to his feet, all his divine right suddenly recognized. He held out his arms. "Come," he said. Linda arose with shining face, stepped down from the platform and went to him. The dim portraits on the walls smiled down at them. It was the old story to which each passing generation had listened. The ancient house could tell many a like tale.