Part 95 (2/2)

”Oh, I have no hope,” Norman went on despairingly. ”I gave her every right to doubt it. I killed her love. I do not blame her. It was all my fault. I know it now, when it is too late.”

”It is not too late.”

Norman shook his head, without even looking at Keith.

”Too late,” he said, speaking to himself.

Keith rose to his feet.

”It is not too late,” he declared, with a sudden ring in his voice; ”she loves you.”

Norman shook his head.

”She hates me; I deserve it.”

”In her heart she adores you,” said Keith, in a tone of conviction.

Norman turned away with a half-bitter laugh.

”You don't know.”

”I do know, and you will know it, too. How long shall you be here?”

”I shall spend the night here,” said Norman. ”I must be ready for whatever may happen to-morrow morning.--I have not thanked you yet.” He extended his hand to Keith. ”You stemmed the tide for me to-day. I know what it must have cost you. I cannot regret it, and I know you never will; and I beg you to believe that, though I go down to-morrow, I shall never forget it, and if G.o.d spares me, I will repay you.”

Keith's eyes rested on him calmly.

”You paid me long ago, Norman. I was paying a debt to-day, or trying to pay one, in a small way. It was not I who made that deposit to-day, but a better man and a finer gentleman than I can ever hope to be--my father. It was he who inspired me to do that; he paid that debt.”

From what Keith had heard, he felt that he was justified in going to see Mrs. Wentworth. Possibly, it was not too late; possibly, he might be able to do something to clear away the misapprehension under which she labored, and to make up the trouble between her and Norman. Norman still loved her dearly, and Keith believed that she cared for him. Lois Huntington always declared that she did, and she could not have been deceived.

That she had been foolish Keith knew; that she had been wicked he did not believe. She was self-willed, vain, extravagant; but deep under her cold exterior burned fires of which she had once or twice given him a glimpse; and he believed that her deepest feeling was ever for Norman.

When he reached Mrs. Wentworth's house he was fortunate enough to find her at home. He was shown into the drawing-room.

When Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, Keith was conscious of a change in her since he had seen her last. She, too, had heard the clangor of the evil tongues that had connected their names. She greeted him with cordial words, but her manner was constrained, and her expression was almost suspicious.

She changed, however, under Keith's imperturbable and unfeigned friendliness, and suddenly asked him if he had seen Norman. For the first time real interest spoke in her voice and shone in her face. Keith said he had seen him.

”I have come to see if I could not help you. Perhaps, I may be able to do something to set things right.”

”No--it is too late. Things have gone too far. We have just drifted--drifted!” She flung up her hands and tossed them apart with a gesture of despair. ”Drifted!” she repeated. She put her handkerchief to her eyes.

Keith watched her in silence for a moment, and then rising, he seated himself beside her.

”Come--this is all wrong--all wrong!” He caught her by the wrist and firmly took her hand down from her eyes, much as an older brother might have done. ”I want to talk to you. Perhaps, I can help you--I may have been sent here for the purpose--who knows? At least, I want to help you.

Now tell me.” He looked into her face with grave, kind eyes. ”You do not care for Ferdy Wickersham? That would be impossible.”

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