your part, can
ever entertain a spark of affection for me?"

She was silent, her white lips pressed close together, a strange
expression crossing her features. Again she held her breath, as though
what I had said had caused her great surprise. Then she answered--

"How can you love me? Am I not, after all, a mere stranger?"

"I know you sufficiently well," I cried, "to be aware that for me
there exists no other woman. I fear I'm a blunt man. It is my nature.
Forgive me, Sylvia, for speaking the truth, but--well, as a matter of
fact, I could not conceal the truth any longer."

"And you tell me this, after--after all that has happened!" she
faltered in a low, tremulous voice, as I again took her tiny hand in
mine.

"Yes--because I truly and honestly love you," I said, "because ever
since we have met I have found myself thinking of you--recalling
you--nay, dreaming of happiness at your side."

She raised her splendid eyes, and looked into mine for a moment; then,
sighing, shook her head sadly.

"Ah! Mr. Biddulph," she responded in a curious, strained voice,
"passion may be perilously misleading. Ask yourself if you are not
injudicious in making this declaration--to a woman like myself?"

"Why?" I cried. "Why should it be injudicious? I trust you,
because--because I owe my life to you--because you have already proved
yourself my devoted little friend. What I beg and pray is that your
friendship may, in course of time, ripen into love--that you may
reciprocate my affection--that you may really love me!"

A slight hardness showed at the corners of her small mouth. Her eyes
were downcast, and she swallowed the lump that arose in her throat.

She was silent, standing rigid and motionless.

Suddenly a great and distressing truth occurred to me. Did she believe
that I pitied her? I hoped not. Any woman of common sensibility would
almost die of shame at the thought of being loved out of pity; and,
what is more, she would think none the better of the man who pitied
her. The belief that "pity melts the heart to love" is an unfounded
one.

So I at once endeavoured to remove the wrong impression which I feared
I had conveyed.

What mad, impetuous words I uttered I can scarcely tell. I know that I
raised her soft white hand to my lips and kissed it fervently,
repeating my avowal and craving a word of hope from her lips.

But she again shook her head, and with sadness responded in a low,
faltering tone--

"It is quit