deepened the lines about
his mouth, and a fire was lighted about his eyes.

"Cynthia," he said slowly, "even you shall not speak to me like that. If
I had believed it were right, if I had believed that it would have done
any good to you or me, I should have told my father the moment I got to
Brampton. In affairs of this kind--in a matter of so much importance in
my life," he continued, choosing his words carefully, "I am likely to
know whether I am doing right or wrong. If my mother were alive, I am
sure that she would approve of this--this friendship."

Having got so far, he paused. Cynthia felt that she was trembling, as
though the force and feeling that was in him had charged her also.

"I did not intend to come so soon," he went on, "but--I had a reason for
coming. I knew that you did not want me."

"You know that that is not true, Bob," she faltered. His next words
brought her to her feet.

"Cynthia," he said, in a voice shaken by the intensity of his passion,
"I came because I love you better than all the world--because I always
will love you so. I came to protect you, and care for you whatever
happens. I did not mean to tell you so, now. But it cannot matter,
Cynthia!"

He seized her, roughly indeed, in his arms, but his very roughness was
a proof of the intensity of his love. For an instant she lay palpitating
against him, and as long as he lives he will remember the first
exquisite touch of her firm but supple figure and the marvellous
communion of her lips. A current from the great store that was in her,
pent up and all unknown, ran through him, and then she had struggled out
of his arms and fled, leaving him standing alone in the parlor.

It is true that such things happen, and no man or woman may foretell
the day or the hour thereof. Cynthia fled up the stairs, miraculously
arriving unnoticed at her own room, and locked the door and flung
herself on the bed.

Tears came--tears of shame, of joy, of sorrow, of rejoicing, of regret;
tears that burned, and yet relieved her, tears that pained while they
comforted. Had she sinned beyond the pardon of heaven, or had she
committed a supreme act of right? One moment she gloried in it, and the
next upbraided herself bitterly. Her heart beat with tumult, and again
seemed to stop. Such, though the words but faintly describe them, were
her feelings, for thoughts were still to emerge out of chaos. Love comes
like a flame to few women, but so it came to Cynthia We