e with him in a minute, said the old
woman as she showed him into the sitting-room up-stairs.

Marion, as soon as she heard the knock, ran for a moment to her own
bed-room. Was it not much to her that he was with her again, not only
alive, but uninjured, that she should again hear his voice, and see
the light of his countenance, and become aware once more of a certain
almost heavenly glory which seemed to surround her when she was in
his presence? She was aware that on such occasions she felt herself
to be lifted out of her ordinary prosaic life, and to be for a
time floating, as it were, in some upper air; among the clouds,
indeed;--alas, yes; but among clouds which were silver-lined; in a
heaven which could never be her own, but in which she could dwell,
though it were but for an hour or two, in ecstasy,--if only he would
allow her to do so without troubling her with further prayer. Then
there came across her a thought that if only she could so begin this
interview with him that it might seem to be an occasion of special
joy,--as though it were a thanksgiving because he had come back to
her safe,--she might, at any rate for this day, avoid words from him
which might drive her again to refuse his great request. He already
knew that she loved him, must know of what value to her must be
his life, must understand how this had come at first a terrible,
crushing, killing sorrow, and then a relief which by the excess of
its joy must have been almost too much for her. Could she not let all
that be a thing acknowledged between them, which might be spoken of
as between dearest friends, without any allusion for the present to
that request which could never be granted?

But he, as he waited there a minute or two, was minded to make quite
another use of the interview. He was burning to take her in his arms
as his own, to press his lips to hers and know that she returned his
caress, to have the one word spoken which would alone suffice to
satisfy the dominating spirit of the man within him. Had she acceded
to his request, then his demand would have been that she should at
once become his wife, and he would not have rested at peace till he
had reduced her months to weeks. He desired to have it all his own
way. He had drawn her into his presence as soon almost as he had seen
her. He had forced upon her his love. He had driven her to give him
her heart, and to acknowledge that it was so. Of course he must go on
with his triumph over