"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?"
Seymour was human, and filled with human feeling. He drew away from her.
"What was he doing here?" he said coldly. She smiled at him merrily.
"Bidding me good-by. He was made prisoner, of course, by the first soldier we came across after we landed, and has been spending the days of his captivity with us. He was exchanged to-day, and leaves to-night."
"Katharine, he was in love with you!" he said, with what seemed to him marvellous perspicacity.
"Yes, John," she answered, still smiling.
"And you? You praise this man, you like him, you--"
"I think him the bravest man, the truest gentleman in the world--except this one," she said, laying her hand upon his shoulder and her head upon his breast. "No, no; he pleaded in vain. I only pitied him; I loved you. Do not be jealous, foolish boy. No one should have me. I am yours alone."
"But if I had not come back, Kate,--how then?"
"It would have made no difference. I told him so."
Neither of them in their mutual absorption had noticed that a horse had stopped in the road opposite the boat-house, and a horseman had walked to the door and had halted at the sight which met his eyes. Desborough recognized Seymour at once, and he had unwittingly heard the end of the conversation. He was the second. The man was back again. It was true. The gallant gentleman stood still a moment, making no sound, then turned back and mounted his horse, and rode madly away with despair in his heart.