et seemingly a girl.... Whilst in three months...."

She paused in her eagerness, for he had jumped to his feet and was now
standing before her, a rigid, statuesque figure, with head bent and arms
hanging inert by his side.

"You do not love me, Suzanne," he said with an infinity of sadness,
which went straight to her own loving heart, "else you would not dream
of thus condemning me to three months of exquisite torture.... I have
had my answer.... Farewell, my gracious lady ... not mine, alas! but
another man's ... and may Heaven grant that he love you well ... not as
I do, for that were impossible...."

His voice had died away in a whisper, which obviously was half-choked
with tears. She, too, had risen while he spoke, all her hesitation
gone, her heart full of reproaches against herself, and of love for him.

"What do you mean?" she asked trembling.

"That I must go," he replied simply, "since you do not love me...."

Oh! how thankful she was that this merciful darkness enwrapped her so
tenderly. She was so young, so innocent and pure, that she felt half
ashamed of the expression of her own great love which went out to him in
a veritable wave of passion, when she began to fear that she was about
to lose him.

"No, no," she cried vehemently, "you shall not go ... you shall not."

Her hands sought his in the gloom, and found them, clung to them with
ever-growing ardor; she came quite close to him trying to peer into his
face and to let him read in hers all the pathetic story of her own deep
love for him.

"I love you," she murmured through her tears. And again she repeated: "I
love you. See," she added with sudden determination, "I will do e'en as
you wish.... I will follow you to the uttermost ends of the earth.... I
... I will marry you ... secretly ... an you wish."

Welcome darkness that hid her blushes! ... she was so young--so ignorant
of life and of the world--yet she felt that by her words, her promise,
her renunciation of her will, she was surrendering something to this
man, which she could never, never regain.

Did the first thought of fear, or misgiving cross her mind at this
moment? It were impossible to say. The darkness which to her was so
welcome was--had she but guessed it--infinitely cruel too, for it hid
the look of triumph, of rapacity, of satisfied ambition which at her
selfless surrender had involuntarily crept into Marmaduke's eyes.

CHAPTER XII

A WOMAN'S HEART

It is diff