Darrell listened silently. Of young Whitcomb, of his death, and of his own part in that sad affair he had often heard, but no mention of anything of this nature. He sat lost in thought.
"Of course, you know how sadly the romance ended," Walcott continued, wondering somewhat at Darrell's silence. "I have understood that you were a witness of young Whitcomb's tragic death."
"I know from hearsay, that is all," Darrell replied, quietly; "I have heard the story a number of times."
Walcott expressed great surprise. "Pardon me, Mr. Darrell, for referring to the matter. I had heard something regarding the peculiar nature of your malady, but I had no idea it was so marked as that. Is it possible that you have no recollection of that affair?"
"None whatever," Darrell answered, briefly, as though he did not care to discuss the matter.
"How strange! One would naturally have supposed that anything so terrible, so shocking to the sensibilities, would have left an impression on your mind never to have been effaced! But I fear the subject is unpleasant to you, Mr. Darrell; pardon me for having alluded to it."
The conversation turned, but Darrell could not banish the subject from his thoughts. Kate had often spoken to him of her cousin, but never as a lover. He recalled his portrait at The Pines; the frank, boyish face with its winning smile—a bonnie lover surely! Had she, or had she not, he wondered, learned to reciprocate his love before the tragic ending came? And if not, did she now regret it?
He watched her that evening, fearing to broach a subject so delicate, but pondering long and deeply, till at last she rallied him on his unusual seriousness, and he told her what he had heard.
"Yes," she said, in reply; "Harry loved me, or thought he did; though he was like the others—he did not understand me any better than they. But he had always been just like a brother to me, and I could never have loved him in any other way, and I told him so. Papa said I would learn in time, and I think perhaps he would have insisted upon it if Harry had lived. I was sorry I couldn't care for him as he wished; he thought I would after a while, but I never could, for I think that kind of love is far different from all others; don't you, Mr. Darrell?"