The next afternoon he called again on Katherine.  His arm was still useless; his pallor and weakness so great as to win, even from Lysbet, that womanly pity which is often irrespective of desert.  She brought him wine, she made him rest upon the sofa, and by her quiet air of sympathy bespoke for him a like indulgence from her daughter.  Katherine sat by her small wheel, unplaiting some flax; and Neil thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.  He kept angrily asking himself why he had not perceived this rare loveliness before; why he had not made sure his claim ere rivals had disputed it with him.  He did not understand that it was love which had called this softer, more exquisite beauty into existence.  The tender light in the eyes; the flush upon the cheek; the lips, conscious of sweet words and sweeter kisses; the heart, beating to pure and loving thoughts,—­in short, the loveliness of the soul, transfiguring the meaner loveliness of flesh and blood, Neil had perceived and wondered at; but he had not that kind of love experience which divines the cause from the result.

On the contrary, had Hyde been watching Katherine, he would have been certain that she was musing on her lover.  He would have understood that bewitching languor, that dreaming silence, that tender air and light and colour which was the physical atmosphere of a soul communing with its beloved; a soul touching things present only with its intelligence, but reaching out to the absent with intensity of every loving emotion.

For some time the conversation was general.  The meeting of the delegates, and the hospitalities offered them; the offensive and tyrannical Stamp Act; the new organization of patriots who called themselves “Sons of Liberty;” and the loss of Miss Mary Blankaart’s purse,—­furnished topics of mild dispute.  But no one’s interest was in their words, and presently Madam Van Heemskirk rose and left the room.  Her husband had said, “Neil was to have some opportunities;” and the words of Joris were a law of love to Lysbet.

Neil was not slow to improve the favour.  “Katherine, I wish to speak to you.  I am weak and ill.  Will you come here beside me?”

She rose slowly, and stood beside him; but, when he tried to take her hands, she clasped them behind her back.

“So?” he asked; and the blood surged over his white face in a crimson tide that made him for a moment or two speechless.  “Why not?”

“Blood-stained are your hands.  I will not take them.”

The answer gave him a little comfort.  It was, then, only a moral qualm.  He had even no objection to such a keen sense of purity in her; and sooner or later she would forgive his action, or be made to see it with the eyes of the world in which he moved.

“Katherine, I am very sorry I had to guard my honour with my sword; and it was your love I was fighting for.”