" she told him, after another long pause, "it's a
thing--falling in love--that I should do rather riotously--if I did it
at all. I shouldn't be able to think of much else."

Stuart Farquaharson wanted to seize her in his arms and protest that she
could never love him too riotously, but he instead schooled his voice to
a level almost monotonous.

"I fell in love with you--back there in the days of our childhood," he
said slowly. "Maybe it was only a boy's dream--then--but now it's a
man's dream--a life dream. You will have to be won out of battle, every
wonderful reward does--but victory will come to me." His voice rose
vibrantly. "Because winning it is the one inflexible purpose of my life,
dominating every other purpose."

She had not interrupted him and now she was a little afraid of him--and
of herself. Perhaps it was only the moon--but the moon swings the tides.

"Stuart--" Her voice held a tremor of pleading. "If you do love
me--like that--you can wait. Just now I need you--but not as a lover. I
need you as a friend whom I don't have to fight."

The man straightened and bowed. "Very well," he said, "I can wait--if I
must. Your need comes first."

She gave him a grateful smile, then suddenly came to her feet and began
speaking with such a passionate earnestness as he had not before heard
from her lips.

"I think it's the right of every human being to live fully--not just
half live through a soul-cramping routine. I think it's the right of a
man or a woman to face all the things that make life, to _think_--even
if they make mistakes--to fight for what they believe, even if they're
wrong. I'd rather be Joan of Arc than the most sainted nun that ever
took the veil!"

The young man's face lighted triumphantly, because that was also his
creed. "I knew it!" he exclaimed. "I didn't have to hear your words to
know that marking time in an age of marching would never satisfy you."

"And yet every influence that means home and family seems bent on
condemning me to the dreariness and mustiness of a life that kills
thought. I've thought about it so much that I'm afraid I've grown
morbid." Once more her voice rang with passionate insurgency. "I feel as
if I were being sent to Siberia."

Stuart answered with forced composure through which the thrill of a
minute ago crept like an echo of departing trumpets. "Of course, I came
out here to declare my love. I had waited for this chance ... the sea
... the moon--well! It's