a countess."

Stafford bit his lip.

"I will take you home now," he said. Something in his voice told her
that she had made a wrong step, that she had failed. With a cry she
clung to him more tightly, and drawing back her head, scanned his face.

"Stafford! You--you don't mean to leave me--to throw me off! Say
it--promise me!" She laughed hysterically and would have slipped to her
knees at his feet; but he held her firmly. "See, dearest, I would plead
to you, pray to you! I am--so afraid. But you won't do that--you won't
let anything separate us? Hush! there is my father. Stafford, you will
listen, you will agree!"

As Falconer knocked at the door, she released Stafford, but stood near
him, with her hand resting on his arm.

Falconer came in and regarded them from under his lowered lids.

"I might have expected to find you here," he said harshly to Maude.

"Yes; I came to him," she said, with a little gesture. "Why should I
not? Why should I care--"

Falconer shrugged his shoulders, and turned from her to Stafford.

"I've come to take back what I said this morning," he said, in his dry
voice. "I was hasty, and your--insensate folly in giving up the money
upset me. I have been talking the matter over with Maude, and we have
agreed to--to--continue the engagement."

Stafford lit a couple of candles and the scant light fell upon the
faces of the three, the white one of the woman, the stern and set one
of Stafford, and the hard and impassive one of Mr. Falconer.

"Of course a large sum of money will have to be found; and I must find
it. It will be settled upon Maude--with, of course, a suitable
allowance for a nobleman of your rank--"

"One moment," said Stafford, very quietly. "Before you go any further,
I have to correct a misapprehension, Mr. Falconer. I do not intend to
use my title."

"What!" exclaimed Falconer, his face growing darker.

"I intend dropping the earldom," said Stafford.

"But I don't intend you should," retorted Falconer, brutally. "If I
consent to my daughter's marrying a pauper--"

"A pauper is one who begs," said poor Stafford, his face white as
marble. "I have not yet begged--"

"Stafford!" cried Maude. Then she swung on her father. "Why do you
speak to him--to _him_--like this?--Stafford, you will yield--"

"In everything, in every way, but this," he said, with the same ominous
quietude. "If you are content to drop the title, to share the life of a
poor and an ordinary working