o you understand? I've tried to let you
go, but I can't. I must have you or die."

He paused a moment, and it seemed as if the tornado of his passion were
sweeping back again; but, curiously, he checked it.

"That's how it is with me, Avery," he said. "The fates have played a
ghastly joke on me, but you are mine in spite of it. You came to tell me
so; didn't you?"

Was there a note of pleading in his voice? She fancied so; but still she
could not speak in answer. She leaned against him with every pulse
throbbing. She dared not turn her face to his.

"Are you afraid of me, Avery?" he said, and this time surely she heard a
faint echo of that boyish humour that had first won her. "Because it's
all right, dear," he told her softly. "I've got myself in hand now. You
know, I couldn't hold you in my arms just then and not--not kiss you. You
don't hate me for it, do you? You--understand?"

Yes, she understood. Yet she felt as if he had raised a barrier between
them which nothing could ever take away. She tried to ignore it, but
could not. The glaring fact that he had not cared how much or how little
she had desired those savage kisses of his had begun already to torment
her, and she knew that she would carry the scorching memory of those
moments with her for the rest of her life.

She drew herself slowly from him. "I am going now," she said.

He put out a hand that trembled and laid it on her shoulder. "If I will
let you go, Avery!" he said, and she was again aware of the leaping of
the flame that had scarcely died down but a moment before.

She straightened herself and resolutely faced him. "I am going,
Piers," she said.

His hand tightened sharply. He caught his breath for a few tense seconds.
Then very slowly his hold relaxed; his hand fell. "You will let me see
you back," he said, and she knew by his voice that he was putting strong
force upon himself.

She turned. "No. I will go alone."

He did not move. "Please, Avery!" he said.

Her heart gave a quick throb at the low-spoken words. She paused almost
involuntarily, realizing with a great rush of thankfulness that he would
not stir a step to follow unless she gave him leave.

For an instant she stood irresolute. Then: "Come if you wish!" she said.

She heard him move, and herself passed on, descending the steps into the
dewy garden with again that odd feeling of unreality, almost as if she
walked in a dream.

He came behind her, silent as a shadow, and no