wn eyes, she would have been a little consoled--for,
in defiance of his self-scorn and self-hate, his nerves were tingling
with the memory of that delirium, and his brain was throbbing with the
surge of impulses long dormant, now imperious. But she was not even
looking toward him--for, through her sense of shame, of wounded pride,
her love was clamoring to her to cry out: "Take me in your arms again!
I care not on what terms, only take me and hold me and kiss me."

The rain presently ceased as abruptly as it had begun and they returned
under the dripping leaves to the highroad. She glanced anxiously at
him as they walked toward the town, but he did not speak. She saw that
if the silence was to be broken, she must break it.

"What can I say to convince you?" she asked, as if not he but she were
the offender.

He did not answer.

"Won't you look at me, please?"

He looked, the color mounting in his cheeks, his eyes unsteady.

"Now, tell me you'll not make me suffer because you fancy you've
wronged me. Isn't it ungallant of you to act this way after I've
humiliated myself to confess I didn't mind?"

"Thank you," he said humbly, and looked away.

"You won't have it that I was in the least responsible?" She was
teasing him now--he was plainly unaware of the meaning of her yielding.
"He's so modest," she thought, and went on: "You won't permit me to
flatter myself I was a temptation too strong even for your iron heart,
Don Quixote?"

He flushed scarlet, and the suspicion, the realization of the truth set
her eyes to flashing.

"It's before another woman he's abasing himself," she thought, "not
before me. He isn't even thinking of me." When she spoke her tone was
cold and sneering: "I hope she will forgive you. She certainly would
if she could know what a paladin you are."

He winced, but did not answer. At the road up the bluffs she paused
and there was an embarrassed silence. Then he poured out abrupt
sentences:

"It was doubly base. I betrayed your friendly trust, I was false to
her. Don't misunderstand--she's nothing to me. She's nothing to me,
yet everything. I began really to live when I began to love her.
And--every one must have a--a pole-star. And she's mine--the star I
sail by, and always must. And--" He halted altogether, then blundered
on: "I shall not forgive myself. But you--be merciful--forgive
me--forget it!"

"I shall do neither," she replied curtly, jealousy and vanity st