y price, or I will die in the attempt to get you."

The words have a melodramatic look on paper. But he spoke them not only
with his lips, but with his whole self. They were not out of keeping
with his nature. There is no more desperate blood in the world's veins
than that of the Celt when he is driven to bay or exasperated by
passion. In him the reckless fatalism of the Asiatic is blended with the
cool daring of the northerner.

Maria Addolorata had little experience of the world or of men, but she
had the hereditary instincts of her sex, and as she looked at Dalrymple
she recognized in him the man who would do what he said, or forfeit his
life in trying to do it. There is no mistaking the truth about such men,
at such moments.

"I believe you would," she said, and she felt pride in saying it.

Her own life was in the balance. She bent her head again. Her temples
were throbbing, and it was hard to think at all connectedly.

"I want your answer," he said, still standing near the door. "Yes or
no--for to-morrow night?"

"I cannot live without you," she answered slowly, and still looking
down. "I must go."

But she did not meet his eyes, for she knew that she was wavering still,
and almost as uncertain as before. All at once Dalrymple's manner
changed. He came quietly to her side and took one of her hands, which
hung idly over the back of the chair, in both of his.

"You must be in earnest, as I am, my dear," he said, very calmly and
gently. "You must not play with a man's life and heart, as though they
were worth nothing but play. You called me cruel, dear, a moment ago.
But you are more cruel than I, for I do not hesitate."

"I must go," she repeated, still avoiding his look. "Yes, I must go. I
should die without you."

"But to-morrow when I come, you will hesitate again," he said, still
speaking very quietly. "I must be sure. You must give me some promise,
something more than you have given me yet."

She looked up with startled eyes.

"You do not believe me?" she asked. "What shall I do? I--I promise! You
yourself have never said that you promised."

"Does it need that?" He pressed the hand he held, with softly increasing
strength, between his palms.

"No," she answered, looking at him. "I can see it. You will do what you
say. I have promised, too."

He gazed incredulously into her face.

"Do you doubt me?" she asked.

"Have I not reason to doubt? You change your mind easily. I do not blame
you. B