The tears stood in her eyes, for the passion and feeling in his voice struck home to her.

“I believe it,” she said, softly, “and I am almost sorry I cannot love you.  But I do not, nor do I think I ever could.  You will find others quite as likely to draw forth your affection as I am.  But there are some natural barriers of disposition, and—­oh, I cannot define what—­which hold us apart.  Yet I am interested in you, and would like to know you were happy.  Yet, Mr. De Burgh, I must not sacrifice my life to you.  If I did, the result might not be satisfactory even to yourself.”

“Sacrifice your life!  What an unflattering expression!” cried De Burgh, with a hard laugh.  “So there is no hope for me?”

Katherine shook her head.

“I felt there was but little when I began,” he said, as if to himself.  “Tell me, are you free?  Has some more fortunate fellow than myself touched that impregnable heart of yours?  I know I have no right to ask such a question.”

“You have not indeed, Mr. De Burgh.  And if I could not with truth say ‘no,’ I should be vexed with you for asking it.  Weighted as I am with money enough to excite the greed of ordinary struggling men, I shall not be in a hurry to renounce my comfortable independence.”

De Burgh’s eyes again held hers with a look of entreaty.  “That independence will last just as long as your heart escapes the influence of the man whom you will love one day; for though love lies sleeping, it is in you, and will spring to life some time, all the stronger and more irresistible because his birth has not come early. Then you will feel more for me than you do now.”

“I do feel for you, Mr. De Burgh”—­raising her moist eyes to his.

“Thank you”—­taking her hand and kissing it.  “Will you, then be my friend, and promise not to banish me?  I’ll be sensible, and give you no trouble.”

“Oh yes, certainly,” said Katherine, glad to be able to comfort him in any way; and she withdrew her hand.

“I am not going to worry you with my presence now,” he continued.  “I shall say good-by for the present.  I am going away north.  I have entered a horse for a big steeple-chase at Barton Towers, and will ride him myself.  If I win I can hold out awhile longer.  You must wish me success.”

“I am sure I do, heartily.  After this, do give up racing.”

“Very well.  But”—­pressing her hand hard—­“I’ll tell you what I will not give up, my hope of winning you, until you are married to some one else and out of my reach.”

He kissed her hand again, and then, without any further adieu, turned away, walking with long swift steps toward the town, not once looking back.