didn't you?"

Gyp bent her face over her baby to hide the quivering of her lips.

"I am sorry--very, very sorry."

Fiorsen came closer and looked into her face.

"By God, I am afraid I shall never forget you--never!"

Tears had come into his eyes, and Gyp watched them, moved, troubled, but
still deeply mistrusting.

He brushed his hand across his face; and the thought flashed through
her: 'He means me to see them! Ah, what a cynical wretch I am!'

Fiorsen saw that thought pass, and muttering suddenly:

"Good-bye, Gyp! I am not all bad. I AM NOT!" He tore the door open and
was gone.

That passionate "I am not!" saved Gyp from a breakdown. No; even at his
highest pitch of abnegation, he could not forget himself.

Relief, if overwhelming, is slowly realized; but when, at last, what she
had escaped and what lay before her were staring full in each other's
face, it seemed to her that she must cry out, and tell the whole world
of her intoxicating happiness. And the moment little Gyp was in Betty's
arms, she sat down and wrote to Summerhay:

"DARLING,

"I've had a fearful time. My baby was stolen by him while I was with
you. He wrote me a letter saying that he would give her back to me if I
gave you up. But I found I couldn't give you up, not even for my baby.
And then, a few minutes ago, he brought her--none the worse. Tomorrow
we shall all go down to Mildenham; but very soon, if you still want me,
I'll come with you wherever you like. My father and Betty will take care
of my treasure till we come back; and then, perhaps, the old red house
we saw--after all. Only--now is the time for you to draw back. Look into
the future--look far! Don't let any foolish pity--or honour--weigh with
you; be utterly sure, I do beseech you. I can just bear it now if I know
it's for your good. But afterward it'll be too late. It would be the
worst misery of all if I made you unhappy. Oh, make sure--make sure! I
shall understand. I mean this with every bit of me. And now, good-night,
and perhaps--good-bye.

"Your

"GYP."

She read it over and shivered. Did she really mean that she could bear
it if he drew back--if he did look far, far into the future, and decided
that she was not worth the candle? Ah, but better now--than later.

She closed and sealed the letter, and sat down to wait for her father.
And she thought: 'Why does one have a heart? Why is there in one
something so much too soft?'

Ten days later, at Mildenh