A moment, and he rose and came toward her. She thrilled with ecstasy as he sat down by her side. Her little hand, icy cold a moment before, grew burning hot as he touched it with his own.
"Kathleen, forgive me," he murmured, "but I can not let this blessed chance pass. I wrote to you. Did you receive my letter?"
"Yes," she faltered.
"Cruel girl! And you would not reply? Kathleen, was that just or fair? Could you find no excuse in your heart for me when I had told you my whole sad story?"
"I—I—was sorry for you. I—wanted to—write—but I promised not to," she whispered, almost inaudibly.
"Promised not to write to me!" His dark eyes flashed with anger. "Who was so cruel as to forbid you? Mr. Darrell?"
"No—No! Teddy knows nothing. It was my uncle. It seemed to him that it would not be right to my—to—to—Mr. Darrell!"
"To Mr. Darrell! Oh, Kathleen, is it true, that you will marry him? Do you love him?"
"Do not ask me. It is not right. You—you—are not free!" she cried, trying to be loyal to her absent betrothed.
"I shall be—soon. The courts will certainly grant me a divorce from that dreadful woman. But then, Kathleen, my freedom will avail me nothing if you are lost to me! Oh, my own love—my darling! be brave, and break through the fetters that bind you to this man you do not love! Wait for me?"