"I, Mr. Leicester?"

"You. I have not learnt to believe in goodness generally, but I believe
in your goodness. I have not learnt to believe in women, but I believe
in a woman. I believe in you. And I believe in you because I love you."

He spoke quietly, and there was no tremor in his voice, but his face
was, if possible, paler than usual. That he was deadly in earnest no one
could doubt.

"I make no pretences," he went on. "I do not say, nay, I do not think
that I shall ever become a pattern man. Even now I have no strong faith,
even if I have any, in either God or man; but I love you!"

He seemed to be carried away by his own confession. Almost rudely he
turned his back on her and walked to the window and looked out over the
stretch of lawn and park-land. But he did not remain there. When he came
back again Olive glanced at him almost fearfully, and for a moment was
well-nigh repelled by the fierce look in his eyes.

"I love you," he went on, still quietly; but his voice had changed.
There was an intensity in its tones which she had never heard before. "I
love you so, that--that with you by my side, I feel I could conquer
anything, accomplish anything--anything! Look at me, yes, like that. Now
then, do you love me?"

Almost mechanically she shook her head. She did not know why she did
this, only it seemed as if some unseen monitor compelled her.

Radford Leicester took a step towards her.

"You must," he said, in the same low tone, but still almost fiercely,
"you must, you must! You must not withhold it. Good God! you do not know
what this hour means to me. My life, my future, my faith, my all is in
your hands."

Still she remained silent. Her face had become pale, and although the
look in her eyes was not of fear, it showed no confidence.

"Speak to me," he went on. "I am not a boy longing for a new toy. I am a
hardened man, a hardened sinner, if you like. I make no boasts, no
professions, but I love you, love you! and you must love me, you must."

For a moment the girl resented his air of masterfulness. She was not of
the weak and pliable kind of women that could be carried away by wild
assault. She looked up at him steadily now, and Leicester saw by the
expression in her eyes that he had touched a wrong chord.

"Forgive me my rudeness," he said, before she had a chance to speak,
"but I think a man in earnest is sure to be rude; he must be. Do not
think, moreover, that I do not realise the value of wha