worthy of it. She was noble, and good, and womanly; he said it many
times, and tried to stop the rapid heart throbs and quiet himself down
to meet her when she should come to him with her frank, open face and
smile, in which there was no shadow of guile. She was coming now; he
heard her voice in the hall speaking to her friend, and, thrusting the
fatal letter in his pocket, he rose to his feet, and steadying himself
upon the table stood waiting for her, as, flushed and eager, she came
in.

"Guy--Guy--what is it? Are you sick?" she asked, alarmed at the pallor
on his face and the strange expression of his eyes.

He was glad she had thus construed his agitation, and he answered that
he was faint and a little sick.

"It came on suddenly, while I was sitting here. It will pass off as
suddenly," he said, trying to smile, and holding out his hand, which she
took at once in hers.

"Is it your heart, Guy? Do you think it is your heart?" she continued,
as she rubbed and caressed his cold, clammy hand.

A shadow of pain or remorse flitted across Guy's face as he replied:

"I think it is my heart, but I assure you there is no danger--the worst
is over. I am a great deal better."

And he was better with that fair girl beside him, her face glowing with
excitement and her soft hands pressing his. Perfectly healthy herself,
she must have imparted some life and vigor to him, for he felt his pulse
grow steadier beneath her touch, and the blood flow more easily through
his veins.

If only he could forget that crumpled letter which lay in his vest
pocket and seemed to burn into his flesh; forget that and the young girl
across the sea, watching for an answer and the one word "Come!" he might
be happy yet, for Julia was one whom any man could love and be proud to
call his wife. And Guy said to himself that he did love her, though not
as he once loved Daisy, or as he could love her again were he free to do
so, and because of that full love withheld he made a mental vow that his
whole life should be given to her happiness, so that she might never
know any care or sorrow from which he could shield her.

"And Daisy?" something whispered in his ear.

"I must and will forget her," he sternly answered, and the arm he had
thrown around Julia, who was sitting with him upon the sofa, tightened
its grasp until she winced and moved a little from him.

He was very talkative that evening, and asked his wife many questions
about her friends a