"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 l.u.s.tre; 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."

"We had better say good-morning," Darrell laughed, as the clock in the hall below chimed one of the "wee, sma' hours;" "promise me that you will go to rest at once, won't you?"

"Very soon," she answered, smiling; then, a sudden impulsiveness conquering her reserve, she exclaimed, "Do you know, this has been the happiest night of my whole life. I hardly dare go to sleep for fear I will wake up and find it all a dream."

For answer Darrell folded her close to his breast, kissing her hair and brow with pa.s.sionate tenderness; then suddenly, neither knew just how, their lips met in long, lingering, rapturous kisses.

"Will that make it seem more real, sweetheart?" he asked, in a low voice vibrating with emotion.

"Yes, oh yes!" she panted, half frightened by his fervor; "but let me go; please do!"

He released her, only retaining her hands for an instant, which he bent and kissed; then bidding her good-night, he hastened down the hall to his room.

At the door, however, he looked back and saw her still standing where he had left her. She wafted him a kiss on her finger-tips and disappeared.

Going to her desk, she read with shining eyes and smiling lips the last lines written in her journal, then dipped her pen as though to write further, hesitated, and, closing the book, whispered,--

"That is too sacred to intrust even to you, you dear, old journal! I shall keep it locked in my own breast."

Then, locking her desk and turning off the light, she stole noiselessly to her room.

_Chapter XVI_

THE AFTERMATH

As Darrell entered his room its dim solitude seemed doubly grateful after the glare of the crowded rooms he had lately left. His brain whirled from the unusual excitement. He wanted to be alone with his own thoughts--alone with this new, overpowering joy, and a.s.sure himself of its reality. He seated himself by an open window till the air had cooled his brow, and his brain, under the mysterious, soothing influence of the night, grew less confused; then, partially disrobing, he threw himself upon his bed to rest, but not to sleep.

Again he lived over the last few weeks at The Pines, comprehending at last the gracious influence which, entering into his barren, meagre life, had rendered it so inexpressibly rich and sweet and complete. Ah, how blind! to have walked day after day hand in hand with Love, not knowing that he entertained an angel unawares!

And then had followed the revelation, when the scales had fallen from his eyes before the vision of lovely maiden-womanhood which had suddenly confronted him. He recalled her as she stood awaiting his tardy recognition--recalled her every word and look throughout the evening down to their parting, and again he seemed to hold her in his arms, to look into her eyes, to feel her head upon his breast, her kisses on his lips.

But even with the remembrance of those moments, while yet he felt the pressure of her lips upon his own, pure and cool like the dewy petals of a rose at sunrise, there came to him the first consciousness of pain mingled with the rapture, the first dash of bitter in the sweet, as he recalled the question in her eyes and the half-whispered, "I wondered if there might have been a 'Kathie' in the past."

The past! How could he for one moment have forgotten that awful shadow overhanging his life! As it suddenly loomed before him in its hideous blackness, Darrell started from his pillow in horror, a cold sweat bursting from every pore. Gradually the terrible significance of it all dawned upon him,--the realization of what he had done and of what he must, as best he might, undo. It meant the relinquishment of what was sweetest and holiest on earth just as it seemed within his grasp; the renunciation of all that had made life seem worth living! Darrell buried his face in his hands and groaned aloud. So it was only a mockery, a dream. He recalled Kate's words: "I hardly dare go to sleep for fear I will wake up and find it all a dream," and self-reproach and remorse added their bitterness to his agony. What right had he to bring that bright young life under the cloud overhanging his own, to wreck her happiness by contact with his own misfortune! What would it be for her when she came to know the truth, as she must know it; and how was he to tell her? In his anguish he groaned,--

"G.o.d pity us both and be merciful to her!"

For more than an hour he walked the room; then kneeling by the bed, just as a pale, silvery streak appeared along the eastern horizon, he cried,--

"O G.o.d, leave me not in darkness; give me some clew to the vanished past, that I may know whether or not I have the right to this most precious of all thine earthly gifts!"

And, burying his face, he strove as never before to pierce the darkness enveloping his brain. Long he knelt there, his hands clinching the bedclothes convulsively, even the muscles of his body tense and rigid under the terrible mental strain he was undergoing, while at times his powerful frame shook with agony.

The silvery radiance crept upward over the deep blue dome; the stars dwindled to glimmering points of light, then faded one by one; a roseate flush tinged the eastern sky, growing and deepening, and the first golden rays were shooting upward from a sea of crimson flame as Darrell rose from his knees. He walked to the window, but even the sunlight seemed to mock him--there was no light for him, no rift in the cloud darkening his path, and with a heavy sigh he turned away. The struggle was not yet over; this was to be a day of battle with himself, and he nerved himself for the coming ordeal.

After a cold bath he dressed and descended to the breakfast-room. It was still early, but Mr. Underwood was already at the table and Mrs. Dean entered a moment later from the kitchen, where she had been giving directions for breakfast for Kate and her guests. Both were shocked at Darrell's haggard face and heavy eyes, but by a forced cheerfulness he succeeded in diverting the scrutiny of the one and the anxious solicitude of the other. Mr. Underwood returned to his paper and his sister and Darrell had the conversation to themselves.

"Last night's dissipation proved too much for me," Darrell said, playfully, in reply to some protest of Mrs. Dean's regarding his light appet.i.te.

"You don't look fit to go down town!" she exclaimed; "you had better stay at home and help Katherine entertain her guests. I noticed you seemed to be very popular with them last night."

"I'm afraid I would prove a sorry entertainer," Darrell answered, lightly, as he rose from the table, "so you will kindly excuse me to Miss Underwood and her friends."

"Aren't you going to wait and ride down?" Mr. Underwood inquired.

"Not this morning," Darrell replied; "a brisk walk will do me good." And a moment later they heard his firm step on the gravelled driveway.

Mr. Underwood having finished his reading of the morning paper pa.s.sed it to his sister.

"Pretty good write-up of last night's affair," he commented, as he replaced his spectacles in their case.

"Is there? I'll look it up after breakfast; I haven't my gla.s.ses now,"

Mrs. Dean replied. "I thought myself that everything pa.s.sed off pretty well. What did you think of Katherine last night, David?"

The lines about his mouth deepened as he answered, quietly,--

"She'll do, if she is my child. I didn't see any finer than she; and old Stockton's daughter, with all her father's millions, couldn't touch her!"

"I had no idea the child was so beautiful," Mrs. Dean continued; "she seemed to come out so unexpectedly some way, just like a flower unfolding. I never was so surprised in my life."

"I guess the little girl took a good many of 'em by surprise, judging by appearances," Mr. Underwood remarked, a shrewd smile lighting his stern features.

"Yes, she received a great deal of attention," rejoined his sister. "I suppose," she added thoughtfully, "she'll have lots of admirers 'round here now."

"No, she won't," Mr. Underwood retorted, with decision, at the same time pushing back his chair and rising hastily; "I'll see to it that she doesn't. If the right man steps up and means business, all right; but I'll have no hangers-on or fortune-hunters dawdling about!"

His sister watched him curiously with a faint smile. "You had better advertise for the kind of man you want," she said, dryly, "and state that 'none others need apply,' as a warning to applicants whom you might consider undesirable."

Mr. Underwood turned quickly. "What are you driving at?" he demanded, impatiently. "I've no time for beating about the bush."