“No; have you?”

“No; I dare not go.  I would not if I could.  I wish to remember him as he lived, and one, glance at his dead face would blot out the memory forever.”

Ralph could not understand this.  There was no chord in his nature that responded to such feelings; but he said nothing in reply.

“Ralph,” continued Willy, “do you know I think Rotha—­I almost thin—­do you not think that Rotha rather cares for me?”

A perceptible tremor passed over Ralph’s face.  Then he said, with something like a smile, “Do you think she does, my lad?”

“I do—­I almost do think so.”

Ralph had resumed his seat on the oak chest.  The simple, faltering words just spoken had shaken him to the core.  Hidden there—­hidden even from himself—­had lain inert for months a mighty passion such as only a great heart can know.  In one moment he had seen it and known it for what it was.  Yes, he had indeed loved this girl; he loved her still.  When he spoke again his voice seemed to have died inwards; he appeared to be speaking out of his breast.

“And what of yourself, Willy?” he asked.

“I think I care for her, too,—­I think so.”

How sure was the other of a more absolute affection than the most positive words could express!  Ralph sat silent for a moment, as was his wont when under the influence of strong feeling.  His head inclined downwards, and his eyes were fixed on the floor.  A great struggle was going on within him.  Should he forthwith make declaration of his own passion?  Love said, Yes! love should be above all ties of kindred, all claims of blood.  But the many tongues of an unselfish nature said, No!  If this thing were wrong, it would of itself come to nought; if right, it would be useless to oppose it.  The struggle was soon over, and the impulse of self-sacrifice had conquered.  But at what a cost—­at what a cost!

“Yet there is her father, you know,” Willy added.  “One dreads the thought of such a match.  There may be something in the blood—­at least, one fears—­”

“You need have no fear of Rotha that comes of her relation to Simeon Stagg.  Sim is an innocent man.”

“So you say—­so you say.  Let us hope so.  It’s a terrible thought-that of marriage with the flesh and blood of—­of a murderer.”

“Rotha is as free from taint of crime as—­you are.  She is a noble girl, and worthy of you, worthy of any man, whatever her father may be,” said Ralph.

“Yes, yes, I know; I thought you’d say so.  I’m glad, Ralph—­I can’t tell you how glad I am—­to hear you say so.  And if I’m right—­if Rotha really loves me—­I know you’ll be as glad as I am.”

Ralph’s face trembled slightly at this, but he nodded his head and smiled.

“Not that I could think of it for a long time,” Willy continued.  “This dreadful occurrence must banish all such thoughts for a very long time.”