d this purpose he had, by the simple
stratagem of his own handkerchief, achieved. Nevertheless, in answer to
Zuleika's question, and with the pressure of her hand to inspire him,
the only word that rose to his lips was "Ay" (which may be roughly
translated as "Yes").

"You will do nothing of the sort," interposed the Duke.

"There," said Zuleika, still retaining The MacQuern's hand, "you see, it
is forbidden. You must not defy our dear little Duke. He is not used to
it. It is not done."

"I don't know," said The MacQuern, with a stony glance at the Duke,
"that he has anything to do with the matter."

"He is older and wiser than you. More a man of the world. Regard him as
your tutor."

"Do YOU want me not to die for you?" asked the young man.

"Ah, _I_ should not dare to impose my wishes on you," said she, dropping
his hand. "Even," she added, "if I knew what my wishes were. And I
don't. I know only that I think it is very, very beautiful of you to
think of dying for me."

"Then that settles it," said The MacQuern.

"No, no! You must not let yourself be influenced by ME. Besides, I am
not in a mood to influence anybody. I am overwhelmed. Tell me," she
said, heedless of the Duke, who stood tapping his heel on the ground,
with every manifestation of disapproval and impatience, "tell me, is it
true that some of the other men love me too, and--feel as you do?"

The MacQuern said cautiously that he could answer for no one but
himself. "But," he allowed, "I saw a good many men whom I know, outside
the Hall here, just now, and they seemed to have made up their minds."

"To die for me? To-morrow?"

"To-morrow. After the Eights, I suppose; at the same time as the Duke.
It wouldn't do to leave the races undecided."

"Of COURSE not. But the poor dears! It is too touching! I have done
nothing, nothing to deserve it."

"Nothing whatsoever," said the Duke drily.

"Oh HE," said Zuleika, "thinks me an unredeemed brute; just because I
don't love him. YOU, dear Mr. MacQuern--does one call you 'Mr.'? 'The'
would sound so odd in the vocative. And I can't very well call you
'MacQuern'--YOU don't think me unkind, do you? I simply can't bear to
think of all these young lives cut short without my having done a thing
to brighten them. What can I do?--what can I do to show my gratitude?"

An idea struck her. She looked up to the lit window of her room.
"Melisande!" she called.

A figure appeared at the window. "Mademoiselle de