to hear those great, soothing chords the better.  She, being shaken by love, fell upon her knees and tried to pray for comfort, for she felt at the moment she had not one to comfort her.  Janet had been taciturn, showing not her affection as had been her wont heretofore.  The tears came, and she wept aloud.  Then the organ ceased and a moment later Sir Julian stood upon the landing of the stairway, looking down upon her.  Without noise he descended and stood by her side.  His voice, when he spoke, appeared shaken as if a storm of love wrought upon it.

“Katherine!  It pains me to see thee thus.  Can I not give thee some bit of comfort?”

“I am comforted already, Sir Julian; thy music did that.”

“Then why dost still remain with bowed head and thy sobs unassuaged?”

“I do not know.  I must either laugh or cry and—­’tis easier to do the latter.”

“Come!  Mistress Penwick, what can I do for thee?  Ask, I pray, anything, for thy happiness—­Katherine—­” and for the first time in his life he looked guiltily about him.  But no one was near to hear him, and he continued lowly—­“thou dost know, surely, that man cannot look on thee without loving?” and he raised her from her knees.

“I am unloved,” she answered, the social lie tinging her cheek to a brighter hue.

“Not so, for I love thee.”

“Thou, thou, Sir Julian, who art used to spurning woman’s heart?”

“Not spurn, nay!  I have not found one yet I could do that to, and on the other hand I have found but one I could love, and—­that is thine.”

“Ah, Sir Julian.  I wonder if thou dost love me.  ’Tis a great thing to be loved by one who has fought in great battles.”

“And thou dost not know that the battle of hearts is much deadlier than that of arms?”

“I do not know; but thou seemest like a warrior of olden time.  And for thee to love me!”

“Is it enough?  Wilt thou give thyself to me?” There was a silence so long and unbroken Katherine was made to realize that her reply was not to be lightly uttered, so she answered with all the strength of a plaything of caprice,—­

“If thou wilt have it so, Sir Julian, I will be thine.”

She had hardly finished, when he laid his lips, to her astonishment, coldly and with formal grace upon her forehead.

“I will not ask thee if thou lovest me, but will say instead dost think thou mayest?”

“But I think I love thee now—­”

“Nay, sweet Mistress, thou dost not—­” A look of fear came into her eyes.  Had Lord Cedric told her confessions?  Nay, nay! he would not, she knew.

“How dost come by so much knowledge?” she said, coquettishly.

“I have ascertained by subtleness, but—­let it pass.  Let us talk of thee now.  When wilt thou marry me?  If thou art kind, thou wilt say at once.”

“Nay, I shall not say that—­but—­whenever thou dost wish it.”