"It is hardly courteous. Is love so ridiculous in a woman that you should hesitate to use the word?"
"Love!" repeated Jarner, reflectively. "I think you told me, Miss Linisfarne, that you had loved many years ago, and had lost your lover."
"I did," said she, paling at the irony of his accent.
"Pardon me, if my memory fails," he continued; "but you also informed me that your love ended in disaster--that your heart was dead, and that for such reason you buried yourself in our solitudes.",
Miss Linisfarne covered her face with her hands. All the joy had died out of her eyes, and she looked the miserable woman she was.
"For twenty years and more you have lived here," continued Jarner, ponderously, "and all that time have remained faithful to the memory of that early passion. With the details you have not seen fit to honour me; but I can guess your story."
She lifted her haggard face in surprise, but he took no notice of the action.
"You loved and lost, ma'm, and so sought to be constant in this solitude to your dead lover. For twenty years you have been faithful. Why, then," added the vicar, pointing to the picture,--"why, then, let that displace his image in your heart? It is sacrilege to the dead."
"You do not understand!"
"Ay, ma'm, I understand well enough. I also have noted the resemblance which chains you to that portrait. You love the young man who calls himself Dan."