n of my own feelings, of my
hunger for sympathy all these years."

"Have there been shadows in your life, then, too? It looked to be all
sunshine," Darrell said, his face growing tender as he saw the
tear-drops falling.

"Yes, it would seem so, with this beautiful home and all that papa does
for me, and sometimes I'm afraid I'm ungrateful. But oh, Mr. Darrell, if
you could have known my mother, you would understand! She was so
different from papa and auntie, and she loved me so! And it seems as
though since she died I've had nobody to love me. I suppose papa does in
a fashion, but he is too busy to show it, or else he doesn't know how;
and Aunt Marcia! well, you know she's good as she can be, but if she
loved you, you would never know it. I've wondered sometimes if poor
mamma didn't die just for want of love; it has seemed lots of times as
though I would!"

"Poor little girl!" said Darrell, pityingly. He understood now the
wistful, appealing look of the brown eyes. He intended to say something
expressive of sympathy, but the right words would not come. He could
think of nothing that did not sound stilted and formal. Almost
unconsciously he laid his hand with a tender caress on the slender
little white hand lying near him, much as he would have laid it on a
wounded bird; and just as unconsciously, the little hand nestled
contentedly, like a bird, within his clasp.

A few days later Darrell heard from Walcott the story of Harry
Whitcomb's love for his cousin. It had been reported, Walcott said, in
low tones, as though imparting a secret, that young Whitcomb was
hopelessly in love with Miss Underwood, but that she seemed rather
indifferent to his attentions. It was thought, however, that the old
gentleman had favored the match, as he had given his nephew an interest
in his mining business, and had the latter lived and proved himself a
good financier, it was believed that Mr. Underwood would in time have
bestowed his daughter upon him.

Darrell listened silently. Of young Whitcomb, of his death, and of his
own part in that sad affair he had often heard, but no mention of
anything of this nature. He sat lost in thought.

"Of course, you know how sadly the romance ended," Walcott continued,
wondering somewhat at Darrell's silence. "I have understood that you
were a witness of young Whitcomb's tragic death."

"I know from hearsay, that is all," Darrell replied, quietly; "I have
heard the story a number of times."

W