rying her he was, after all,
making sacrifices--she was ascending socially, he descending,
condescending. The feeling was far too vague to be at all conscious; it
is, however, just those hazy, stealthy feelings that exert the most
potent influence upon us. When the strong are conquered is it not always
by feeble forces from the dark and from behind?

"You have had good news," said Madelene, when they were in the dim
daylight on the creeper-screened back porch. For such was her generous
interpretation of his expression of self-confidence and
self-satisfaction.

"Not yet," he replied, looking away reflectively. "But I hope for it."

There wasn't any mistaking the meaning of that tone; she knew what was
coming. She folded her hands in her lap, and there softly entered and
pervaded her a quiet, enormous content that made her seem the crown of
the quiet beauty of that evening sky whose ocean of purple-tinted crystal
stretched away toward the shores of the infinite.

"Madelene," he began in a self-conscious voice, "you know what my
position is, and what I get, and my prospects. But you know what I was,
too; and so, I feel I've the right to ask you to marry me--to wait until
I get back to the place from which I had to come down."

The light was fading from the sky, from her eyes, from her heart. A
moment before he had been there, so near her, so at one with her; now
he was far away, and this voice she heard wasn't his at all. And his
words--She felt alone in the dark and the cold, the victim of a cheat
upon her deepest feelings.

"I was bitter against my father at first," he went on. "But since I have
come to know you I have forgiven him. I am grateful to him. If it hadn't
been for what he did I might never have learned to appreciate you, to--"

"Don't--_please_!" she said in the tone that is from an aching heart.
"Don't say any more."

Arthur was astounded. He looked at her for the first time since he began;
instantly fear was shaking his self-confidence at its foundations.
"Madelene!" he exclaimed. "I know that you love me!"

She hid her face in her hands--the sight of them, long and narrow and
strong, filled him with the longing to seize them, to feel the throb of
their life thrill from them into him, troop through and through him like
victory-bringing legions into a besieged city. But her broken voice
stopped him. "And I thought you loved me," she said.

"You know I do!" he cried.

She was silent.

"What is