ment, stepped
towards him, caught his hand, pressed it to her lips. Piers was taken
by surprise, and could not prevent the action; but at once Olga's own
hand was prisoned in his; they stood face to face, she blushing
painfully, he pale as death, with lips that quivered in their vain
effort to speak.

"I shall be grateful to you as long as I live," the girl faltered,
turning half away, trying gently to release herself.

Piers kissed her hand, again and again, still speechless. When he
allowed her to draw it away, he stood gazing at her like a man
bewildered; there was moisture on his forehead; he seemed to struggle
for breath.

"Let us sit down again and talk," said Olga, glancing at him.

But he moved towards her, the strangest look in his eyes, the fixed
expressionless gaze of a somnambulist.

"Olga----"

"No, no!" she exclaimed, as if suddenly stricken with fear, throwing
out her arms to repel him. "You didn't mean that! It is my fault. You
never meant that."

"Yes! Give me your hand again!" he said in a thick voice, the blood
rushing into his cheeks.

"Not now. You misunderstood me. I oughtn't to have done that. It was
because I could find no word to thank you."

She panted the sentences, holding her chair as if to support herself,
and with the other hand still motioning him away.

"I misunderstood----?"

"I am ashamed--it was thoughtless--sit down and let us talk as we were
doing. Just as friends, it is so much better. We meant nothing else."

It was as if the words fell from her involuntarily; they were babbled,
rather than spoken; she half laughed, half cried. And Otway, a mere
automaton, dropped upon his chair, gazing at her, trembling.

"I will let my uncle see the letters at once," Olga went on, in
confused hurry. "I am sure he will be very grateful to you. But for
you, we should never have had this proof. I, of course, did not need
it; as if I doubted my mother! But he--I can't be sure what he still
thinks. How kind you have always been to us!"

Piers stood up again, but did not move toward her. She watched him
apprehensively. He walked half down the room and back again, then
exclaimed, with a wild gesture:

"I never knew what a curse one's name could be! I used to be proud of
it, because it was my father's; now I would gladly take any other."

"Just because of that man?" Olga protested. "What does it matter?"

"You know well what it matters," he replied, with an unnatural laugh.

"To