r.

Mrs. Gordon had removed Katherine's veil and cloak, and considerately
withdrawn to a mirror at the extremity of the room, where she appeared
to be altogether occupied with her own ringlets. But, indeed, it was
with Katherine and Hyde one of those supreme hours when love conquers
every other feeling. Before the whole world they would have avowed their
affection, their pity, and their truth.

Hyde could speak little, but there was no need of speech. Had he not
nearly died for her? Was not his very helplessness a plea beyond the
power of words? She had only to look at the white shadow of humanity
holding her hand, and remember the gay, gallant, handsome soldier who
had wooed her under the water-beeches, to feel that all the love of her
life was too little to repay his devotion. And so quickly, so quickly,
went the happy moments! Ere Katherine had half said, "I love thee," Mrs.
Gordon reminded her that it was near the noon; "and I have an excellent
plan," she continued; "you can leave my veil and cloak in the coach, and
I will leave you at the first convenient place near your home. At the
turn of the road, one sees nobody but your excellent father or brother,
or perhaps Justice Van Gaasbeek, all of whom we may avoid, if you will
but consider the time."

"Then we must part, _my Katherine_, for a little. When will you come
again?"

This was a painful question, because Katherine felt, that, however she
might excuse herself for the unforeseen stress of pity that all unaware
had hurried her into this interview, she knew she could not find the
same apology for one deliberate and prearranged.

"Only once more," Hyde pleaded. "I had, my Katherine, so many things to
say to you. In my joy, I forgot all. Come but once more. Upon my honour,
I promise to ask Katherine Van Heemskirk only this once. To-morrow?
'No.' Two days hence, then?"

"Two days hence I will come again. Then no more."

He smiled at her, and put out his hands; and she knelt again by his
side, and kissed her "farewell" on his lips. And, as she put on again
her cloak and veil, he drew a small volume towards him, and with
trembling hands tore out of it a scrap of paper, and gave it to her.

Under the lilac hedge that night she read it, read it over and
over,--the bit of paper made almost warm and sentient by Phoedria's
tender petition to his beloved,--

"When you are in company with that other man, behave as if you were
absent; but continue to love me by da