I remonstrated, and--I have not
absented myself from your society," she said, abruptly breaking her talk
after a woman's way.

"Then why didn't you watch the sunset from the Chestnut Ridge last night
and the night before and the night before that?" he asked.

"Why didn't I watch the sunset from the Chestnut Ridge?" she repeated
after him, as though not understanding; and then, with a slow, steady
smile, looking straight in his eyes, "The thought never occurred to me,"
she said.

No studied coquetry could have piqued him as this simple statement,
which he felt to be the plain truth. He had taken three long walks on
the off-chance of meeting a girl who apparently had forgotten his
existence, and although the thought was humorous it stirred in him a
determination to make his existence a remembered thing to her.

"But, if I had known," she explained, and the selflessness and sweetness
of her as she spoke touched him strangely--"if I had thought you wanted
to talk to me, I should have been glad to come."

Fortunately there remained to him a dignified explanation of his
suggestion.

"I thought you might come, not so much to see the sunsets as in the hope
of seeing me. I promised to help you when I could. I thought you might
be interested to know that I had kept my promise. If any one can help
your father it is Dr. Johnston." He gave the letter to her as he spoke.
"He is coming to Ravenel to-morrow."

In an instant her face softened; her eyes became suffused by a soft,
warm light, and she looked up at him through a sudden mist of tears.

"The interview must be arranged," he went on. But Katrine interrupted
him:

"Ah! It will be easy enough. Father is as anxious as I am to be himself
again. You do not know daddy, Mr. Ravenel," she explained, a proud
loyalty in her tone. "He has not been himself before you; but in Paris,
in Dublin, he was welcomed everywhere; his wit was the keenest, with
never an edge that hurt; his stories the brightest, and always of the
kind that made you love the people of whom they were told. He will be
home to-night. Will the doctor come here? I want to tell him
_everything_, and then, when he has seen father, you can tell me what to
do. You see, I haven't thanked you yet," she said, abruptly.

"To know that you are pleased is enough. Besides, I have, on some few
occasions, drifted into doing a kind act for the act's sake," he said;
adding: "Not often, it's true, but occasionally."

"You hav