the pressure of his hand upon her
quivering limbs, she threw herself back in a transport of agony and
delight.

"No, no, Eugene," she begged. "No, no! Save me from myself. Save me from
myself. Oh, Eugene!"

He paused a moment to look at her face. It was wrought in lines of
intense suffering--pale as though she were ill. Her body was quite limp.
Only the hot, moist lips told the significant story. He could not stop
at once. Slowly he drew his hand away, then let his sensitive artists'
fingers rest gently on her neck--her bosom.

She struggled lamely at this point and slipped to her knees, her dress
loosened at the neck.

"Don't, Eugene," she begged, "don't. Think of my father, my mother. I,
who have boasted so. I of whom they feel so sure. Oh, Eugene, I beg of
you!"

He stroked her hair, her cheeks, looking into her face as Abelard might
have looked at Heloise.

"Oh, I know why it is," she exclaimed, convulsively. "I am no better
than any other, but I have waited so long, so long! But I mustn't! Oh,
Eugene, I mustn't! Help me!"

Vaguely Eugene understood. She had been without lovers. Why? he thought.
She was beautiful. He got up, half intending to carry her to his room,
but he paused, thinking. She was such a pathetic figure. Was he really
as bad as this? Could he not be fair in this one instance? Her father
had been so nice to him--her mother--He saw Jotham Blue before him,
Mrs. Blue, her admiring brothers and sisters, as they had been a little
while before. He looked at her and still the prize lured him--almost
swept him on in spite of himself, but he stayed.

"Stand up, Angela," he said at last, pulling himself together, looking
at her intensely. She did so. "Leave me now," he went on, "right away! I
won't answer for myself if you don't. I am really trying. Please go."

She paused, looking at him fearfully, regretfully.

"Oh, forgive me, Eugene," she pleaded.

"Forgive me," he said. "I'm the one. But you go now, sweet. You don't
know how hard this is. Help me by going."

She moved away and he followed her with his eyes, yearningly, burningly,
until she reached the door. When she closed it softly he went into his
own room and sat down. His body was limp and weary. He ached from head
to foot from the intensity of the mood he had passed through. He went
over the recent incidents, almost stunned by his experience and then
went outside and stood under the stairs, listening. Tree toads were
chirping, there