Belle suggested that it might be the same mysterious individual who had bought the house, and Morgan accepted this as a happy solution when it was mentioned to him.

The cabinet-maker was a very queer person at times.

Celia sat in one corner of the high-backed settle alone this afternoon.  Belle, who had come in with the news of the arrival of Rosalind’s father the evening before, had just gone, and Celia, who had spent a busy morning, was reflecting that it was too late to begin a new task, and that she might as well allow herself to rest.  Of late she hid taken life more quietly.

“Morgan seems to have gone out.  May I come in?” It was Allan Whittredge who spoke, standing in the door.

“He was there a moment ago,” Celia answered, rising.

“May I wait for him here?  You agreed we were not to be enemies; can’t we go a step farther, and be friends?”

Celia found no reply to this, but she sat dawn again.

Allan took the arm-chair and faced her.  “I seem to be always forcing myself on you, but I’ll promise you this is the last time,” he said.

Still Celia had nothing to say, but she allowed him a glance of her dark eyes which was not discouraging.

Allan went on:  “I am so tired of mistakes and misunderstandings that, before the subject is closed forever between us, I want you to know the exact truth in regard to my feelings.

“When I received your letter putting an end to things, at first I was hurt and angry, and I tried to persuade myself that it was for the best after all.  You see, I did not know your side, and you will forgive me if I confess I thought you childish and lacking in deep feeling.  Then, two years later, I saw you with the children, coming down the stairs at the Gilpin house, and something made me feel dimly that I had wronged you; but still I could not understand, until some words of Cousin Betty’s suddenly made it clear.  It was maddening to think what my long silence must have seemed to mean to you.  Then, for the first time, I saw the real barrier between us, and the more I thought of it, the more impenetrable it became.

“But it is hard for me to give up.  I have looked at it on all sides; I went away that I might think more clearly about it, and of late I have begun to hope.  I believe that love worthy of the name lives on in spite of everything, and I have dared to wonder if your love could have weathered this storm; if you still cared, though it might be only enough to give me the chance to win you again.”  Allan bent forward in his earnestness, his eyes fixed appealingly upon the small, still figure in the corner of the settle.

“Do you not care at all, Celia?” he asked, after a moment’s silence.

Celia lifted her eyes.  “Care?” she cried, “I have always cared,—­through everything!  When I thought you knew and believed the cruel charge against my father; when I knew his heart was broken; when he was dead,—­when I wanted to hate you, still I cared.  Have you cared like that?”