't_ you love
me, Kate? I don't deserve it. But I've read so often of beautiful women
loving men who did not deserve it. Perhaps I may be worthy of it some
day. And by that time you will have loved somebody else!"

He turned involuntarily, and walked towards home. He recovered himself
instantly, however, and returning put his hand on Kate's arm, who was
frightened and anxious. Like a child praying to his mother, he
repeated:

"_Won't_ you love me, Kate?--Just a little?--How can I go into that
room after you are gone--and all your things out of it? I am not good
enough ever to sleep there again. _Won't_ you love me, Kate? A little?"

"I do love you dearly. You know that, Alec. Why do you always press me
to say more?"

"Because I do not like the way you say it."

"You want me to speak your way, not my own, and be a hypocrite?"

"Kate! Kate! I understand you too well."

They walked home in silence.

Now, although this was sad enough for Alec, yet there was room for
hope. But she was going away, and he would not know what she was doing
or thinking. It was as if she were going to die. Nor was that
all;--for--to misuse the quotation--

"For, in that sleep of death, what dreams might come!"

She might dream of some one, love some one--yes, marry some one, and so
drive him mad.

When the last night arrived, he followed her up-stairs, and knocked at
her room door, to see her once again, and make one more appeal. Now an
appeal has only to do with justice or pity. With love it is of no use.
With love it is as unavailing as wisdom or gold or beauty. But no lover
believes this.

There was no answer to the first, the inarticulate appeal. He lost his
courage, and dared not knock again; and while Kate was standing with
her head on one side, and her dress half off, wondering if any one had
knocked, he crept away to his bed ashamed. There was only a partition
of lath and plaster between the two, neither of whom could sleep, but
neither of whom could have given the other any comfort. Not even
another thunder-storm could have brought them together again that
night.

At length the pitiless dawn, which _will_ come, awoke Alec, and he saw
the last few aged stars wither away as the great young star came up the
hill, the despot who, crowned with day, drives men up and abroad, be
the weather, inside or out, what it may. It was the dreariest dawn Alec
had ever known.

Kate appeared at breakfast with indescribable signs of prepar