e impossible, Mr. Biddulph. Leave me--let us forget all you
have said. It will be better thus--far better for us both. You do not
know who or what I am; you----"

"I do not know, neither do I care!" I cried passionately. "All I know,
Sylvia, is that my heart is yours--that I have loved only once in my
life, and it is now!"

Her slim fingers played nervously with the ribbon upon her cool summer
gown, but she made no response.

"I know I have not much to recommend me," I went on. "Perhaps I am too
hulking, too English. You who have lived so much abroad are more used,
no doubt, to the elegant manners and the prettily turned compliments
of the foreigner than the straight speech of a fellow like myself. Yet
I swear that my only thought has been of you, that I love you with all
my heart--with all my soul."

I caught her hand and again looked into her eyes, trying to read what
response lay hidden in their depths.

I felt her tremble. For a moment she seemed unable to reply. The
silence was unbroken save for the drowsy hum of the insects in the
summer heat outside, while the sweet perfume of the flowers filled our
nostrils. In the tension of those moments each second seemed an hour.
You who have experienced the white heat of the love-flame can only
know my eager, breathless apprehension, the honest whole-heartedness
of my declaration. Perhaps, in your case, the flames are all burnt
out, but even now you can tell of the white core and centre of fire
within you. Years may have gone, but it still remains--the sweet
memory of your well-beloved.

"Tell me, Sylvia," I whispered once more. "Tell me, will you not break
down this strange invisible barrier which you have set up between us?
Forget the past, as I have already forgotten it--and be mine--my own!"

She burst into tears.

"Ah!" she cried. "If I only could--if I only dared!"

"Will you not dare to do it--for my sake?" I asked very quietly. "Will
you not promise to be mine? Let me stand your friend--your champion.
Let me defend you against your enemies. Let me place myself beside you
and defy them."

"Ah, no!" she gasped, "not to defy them. Defiance would only bring
death--death to both of us!"

"Your love, Sylvia, would mean life and happiness, not death--to
me--to both of us!" I cried. "Will you not give me your promise? Let
our love be in secret, if you so desire--only let us love each other.
Promise me!" I cried, my arm stealing around her narrow waist.
"Promi