was sick of the robberies
of life and time, and I wanted to be out of it all in some secure place.
What place so secure from the sorrow that was eating at my heart as
marriage! It said no to every stir of feeling that was vexing me, to
every show of love or remembrance. So I listened to you. It was not
because you were a governor or a peer--no, not that! For even in
Virginia I had offers from one higher than yourself--and younger, and a
peer also. No, it was not material things that influenced me, but your
own intellectual eminence; for you have more brains than most men, as
you know so well."

The governor interrupted her with a gesture. "No, no, I am not so vain
as you think. If I were I should have seen at Salem that you meant to
say yes."

"Yet you know well you have gifts, though you have made sad mistakes
here. Do not think it was your personality, your looks that induced me
to think of you, to listen to you. When Mr. Calhoun told me the truth,
and gave me a letter he had written to me--"

"A letter--to you?"

There was surprise in the governor's voice--surprise and chagrin, for
the thing had moved him powerfully. "Yes, a letter to me which he
never meant me to have. It was a kind of diary of his heart, and it was
written even while I was landing on the island on Christmas Day. It was
the most terribly truthful thing, opening his whole soul to the girl
whom he had always loved, but from whom he was separated by a thing
not the less tragical because it was merely technical. He gave it me to
read, and when I read it I saw there was no place for me in the world
except a convent or marriage. The convent could not be, for I was no
Catholic, and marriage seemed the only thing possible. That day you came
I saw only one thing to do--one mad, hopeless thing to do."

"Mad and hopeless!" burst out Lord Mallow. "How so? Your very reason
shows that it was sane, well founded in the philosophy of the heart."

He was eager to win her yet, and he did not see the end at which she
aimed. He felt he must tell her all the passion and love he felt. But
her look gave no encouragement, her eyes were uninviting.

Sheila smiled painfully. "Yes, mad and hopeless, for be sure of this: we
cannot kill in one day the growth of years. I could not cure myself of
loving him by marrying you. There had to be some other cure for that. I
never knew and never loved my father. But he was my father, and if Mr.
Calhoun killed him, I could not mar