close and lock the
door of her sitting-room.

He knew she would keep her word, knew that the morning would take her
from him, and the pain of hurt pride and wounded love goading him on, he
covered the distance to the bolted door.

"Katrine!" he called.

Within he heard the noise of sobbing, of quick breaths choked with pain.

"Katrine Dulany!" he repeated, with tenderness.

"Yes!" she answered from within.

"I want to speak to you."

There was no response.

"I must speak to you, Katrine."

He waited, fearing her new contempt, until the silence became
unendurable.

"Katrine," he said, "you will either come out or I will come in."

There was another silence before there came, at the end of the lower
corridor, a great commotion of quick orders given and executed, of
luggage being placed, and through it all a low singing as of one much at
home. It would be an awkward situation, he thought, for the servants to
find him clamoring at Miss Dulany's door, and as he moved toward the
window the singing grew nearer, breaking into a loud voice at the top of
the steps,

"War dogs tattered and gray,
Gnawing a naked bone,
Fighting in every clime
Every cause but our own,"

and Dermott the jaunty, the extremely elegant, in black riding-clothes,
with the jewelled crop of North Carolina days, stood in the afternoon
sunlight at the head of the great stairs.

"Ah, Ravenel," he cried, "I have been staying at the Crosbys', and heard
but last night from Miss Dulany that you were here! I accepted the
invitation Van Rensselaer hadn't yet given me to ride over and stay
awhile. I am," and here he had the superb impudence to adjust an
eyeglass for a complete survey of Frank, "I am interested in your doings
just now, Ravenel, very much interested," he repeated, with a smile.

XXIV

"I WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU"

After a brief exchange of incivilities with Dermott, Frank went to his
own room with a flushed cheek, a kindling eye, and something like a song
of victory singing low and strong in his heart. It was a strange mood to
follow such an interview, for there was scarcely a sentence of his
during the talk with Katrine of which he was not ashamed. The lack of
taste, of delicacy, the rawness of his conduct came back to him,
producing a singular sense of elation; for by them he realized that his
love was a thing stronger than himself; a thing which carried him along
with it; buffeted him, did with him as