n to his lips.

"It is nothing, John. I shall be all right now that you are here. You
poor shattered lover, how you must have suffered!" she went on, with a
sob in her voice.

"Oh, Katharine, this," looking down at his empty sleeve, "was nothing
to what I suffered before, when I thought I had killed you!"

"When you thought you had killed me!" she said in surprise. They were
sitting close together now, and she had his hand in both her own.
"How--when, was that?"

And then he told her rapidly about the loss of the Radnor, and the idea
which her note had given that she was on board of it.

"And you led that ship down to destruction, believing I was on her!
How could you do it, John?" she said reproachfully.

"It was my duty, darling Kate," he said desperately.

"And did you love your duty more than me?"

"Love it? I hated it! But I had to do it, dearest," he went on
pleadingly. "Honor--you told me so yourself, here, in this very spot;
I remember your words; do you not recall them?--'If I stood in the
pathway of liberty for a single instant I should despise the man who
would not sweep me aside without a moment's hesitation.' Don't you
know you said that, Katharine?"

"Did I say it? Ah, but that was before I loved you so, and you swept
me aside,--well, I love you still, and, John, I honor you for it too;
but I could not do it. You see, I am only a woman."

"Kate, don't say 'only a woman' that way; what else would I have you,
pray? But tell me of yourself."

Briefly she recited the events that had occurred to her, dwelling much
upon Desborough's courage and devotion to her in the first days of her
captivity, the death of Johnson, the burning of Norfolk, the death of
Bentley. He interrupted her there, and would fain hear every detail of
the sad scene over again, thanking her and blessing her for what she
had done.

"It was nothing," she said simply; "I loved to do it; he was your
friend. It seemed to bring me closer to you." Then she told him of
the foundering of the ship, of the frightful voyage in the boat, and
rang the changes upon Desborough's name, his cheerfulness, his
unfailing zeal and energy, until Seymour's heart filled with jealous
pain.

"Kate," he said at last, "as I came up the road I saw a man leave the
boat-house and climb the hill; who was it?"

"It was Lord Desborough, John."

Seymour was human, and filled with human feeling. He drew away from
her.

"What was he doing here