ld say, he could not help it. If she noticed it she
had no objection to it, for she did not move; but the strong and innocent
probability is that she really did not notice it.

"Oh, what can it mean?" she sobbed. "Why did he do it? What will you do?"

"Never mind," he said, his voice tender, his blue-black eyes full of love,
his whole face angelic with affection. "Don't be troubled. Don't be
anxious. I will do what is right. I will put him under arrest and try him,
if it seems best. But I don't want you to be troubled. It shall all come
out right. I mean to live till you are safe."

After a time he succeeded in soothing her, and then there came a moment in
which she seemed to perceive that his arm was around her waist, for she
drew a little away from him, coloring splendidly. But he had held her too
long to be able to let her go thus; he took her hands and looked in her
face with the solemnity of a love which pleads for life.

"Will you forgive me?" he murmured. "I must say it. I cannot help it. I
love you with all my soul. I dare not ask you to be my wife. I am not fit
for you. But have pity on me. I couldn't help telling you."

He just saw that she was not angry; yes, he was so shy and humble that he
could not see more; but that little glimpse of kindliness was enough to
lure him forward. On he went, hastily and stammeringly, like a man who has
but a moment in which to speak, only a moment before some everlasting
farewell.

"Oh, Miss Van Diemen! Is there--can there ever be--any hope for me?"

It was one of the questions which arise out of great abysses from men who
in their hopelessness still long for heaven. No prisoner at the bar,
faintly trusting that in the eyes of his judge he might find mercy, could
be more anxious than was Thurstane at that moment. The lover who does not
yet know that he will be loved is a figure of tragedy.

CHAPTER XXII.

Although Thurstane did not perceive it, his question was answered the
instant it was asked. The answer started like lightning from Clara's
heart, trembled through all her veins, flamed in her cheeks, and sparkled
in her eyes.

Such a moment of agitation and happiness she had never before known, and
had never supposed that she could know. It was altogether beyond her
control. She could have stopped her breathing ten times easier than she
could have quelled her terror and her joy. She was no more master of the
power and direction of her feelings, than the riv