ce softly, and pushed the gold hair gently back on her forehead. But
she grew frightened by degrees, for there was a look in his eyes she had
never seen there, and that had never been in them before, neither in
love nor in battle. His hands were quite cold, and his face was like a
beautiful marble, but there was an evil something in it, as in a fallen
angel's, a defiance of God, an irresistible strength to do harm, a
terror such as no man would dare to meet.

"You are worth it," he said in a tone so different from his natural
voice that Dolores started, and would have drawn back from him, but
could not, for his hands held her, shaking a little fiercely.

"What? What is it?" she asked, growing more and more frightened--half
believing that he was going mad.

"You are worth it," he repeated. "I tell you, you are worth that, and
much more, and the world, and all the world holds for me, and all earth
and heaven besides. You do not know how I love you--you can never
guess--"

Her eyes grew tender again, and her hands went up and pressed his that
still framed her face.

"As I love you--dear love!" she answered, wondering, but happy.

"No--not now. I love you more. You cannot guess--you shall see what I
will do for your sake, and then you will understand."

He uttered an incoherent exclamation, and his eyes dazzled her as he
seized her in his arms and pressed her to him so that she could have
cried out. And suddenly he kissed her, roughly, almost cruelly, as if he
meant to hurt her, and knew that he could. She struggled in his arms, in
an unknown terror of him, and her senses reeled.

Then all at once, he let her go, and turned from her quickly, leaving
her half fainting, so that she leaned against the wall and pressed her
cheek to the rough hanging. She felt a storm of tears, that she could
not understand, rising in her heart and eyes and throat. He had crossed
the room, getting as far as he could from her, and stood there, turned
to the wall, his arms bent against it and his face buried in his sleeve.
He breathed hard, and spoke as if to himself in broken words.

"Worth it? My God! What are you not worth?"

There was such a ring of agony and struggling in his voice that Dolores
forgot herself and stood up listening, suddenly filled with anxiety for
him again. He was surely going mad. She would have gone to him again,
forgetting her terror that was barely past, the woman's instinct to help
the suffering man overruli