than I
believed it possible for a human creature to be, longing for you,
always, day and night, waking with a convulsion of pain in the gray of
the morning, but still obstinately determined to marry none but some one
whom my forebears would have considered 'suitable.'" He smiled at the
word.

"When the news came of your father's death I was in the Canadian woods.
I started home immediately; I had no fixed plan, except to see you, to
help you in some way. In New York I had a telegram saying that my mother
was very ill at Bar Harbor. There was nothing to do but to go to her, of
course. It was before this that she had sent me Nick van Rensselaer's
letter, and the idea came to me from that, that I might be the one to do
something to make your life a bit happier. You may think it was
reparation for the suffering I had caused you, but it was not. I
_couldn't_ let you go out of my life. In this way, I reasoned, I could
keep in touch with you for years. When I stipulated that you were to
write once a fortnight, I had no idea the letters would be anything but
simple statements of your daily life. You see, I forgot," he smiled
again, the charming, whimsical smile that seemed so much a part of him,
"that you were Irish and could do nothing impersonally.

"Immediately after mother's illness came the matter of the railroad,
and"--he hesitated--"Dermott McDermott. You see, Katrine, you had
stirred something in my nature I never knew before-ambition! That was
part, but the desolation that followed your out-going made action
necessary. Well, the new railroad was to be constructed through the
plantation, and I worked with all the energy I could to forget. You see
what you did for me, Katrine! And at every turn, circumventing,
obstructing, legislating against me, urging me on by mental friction,
was Dermott McDermott. Am I tiring you?" he asked, tenderly.

"No," she answered. "I am glad to know how it all was. Over there in
Paris, when I was alone, I often wondered."

"The interest in my own railroad naturally led to interests in the two
adjoining ones, and always, always, Katrine, there were those letters of
yours urging me on by your divine belief in me. That you loved me,
thought of me, wished me well, prayed for me,--a man has to be worse
than I ever was to fail to be helped by that. And your loyalty, the very
selflessness of your love, your willingness to be hurt if it would help
me--Katrine," he interrupted himself, "there wer