st the rustic chair.

"You never loved me?" he repeated brokenly after her. "You never--oh,
God! why did you tell me that! Why did you come back into my life to
stir up those forces which had crushed me, but which I had at last
subdued!"

Then he turned his eyes upon her, full of the reproach which he dared
not trust himself to speak.

"If it was the domination of my mind then, why should it not be now?" he
asked in a voice which trembled with emotion. "Look at me, Marian!"

"Don't, Philip, I entreat of you; you frighten me!

"Look at me!" he commanded, and she slowly raised her head and gazed
into his face.

"Do you remember the last time you looked at me like that?" he asked
quietly, but even in his low tones there was a compelling force she
recognized.

"Come," he said rising, and drawing her toward him. "If it was not love
which brought you to my arms before, then it must be the same impulse
to-day. Come, Marian, it is not the daughter I want, it is you,--my
beloved, my sweetheart of years gone by!"

"Philip!" she protested feebly, "Philip--I entreat--" but the old,
irresistible influence was too strong, and he folded her in his arms.

In a moment his face changed as if touched by a magician's wand. The
lines which years and disappointment had traced were miraculously
smoothed away, and the expression of contentment was that which comes
only when the seeker has at last reached the consummation of his quest.
The lips moved silently, the eyes looked far into the distance. The past
was forgotten, the future unheeded, but the wonderful present was his!

A convulsive sob from Marian finally brought him to himself. He loosened
his hold, and gazed into her face with abject horror.

"My God!" he cried, as he allowed her limp form to slip back into the
chair. "What have I done! Marian, child, speak to me! Tell me that you
forgive me! It was the years which did it, not I; Marian! speak to me!
Tell me you forgive me!"

He gazed helplessly around as no response came. She lay there, her head
resting on the back of the chair, sobbing hysterically but giving no
sign that she even heard his words. He watched her until at last she
opened her eyes and regained control. Then he spoke again.

"Leave it unspoken, Marian," he exclaimed with an agony in his voice
which the suspense intensified. "I have said it to myself. I have made
myself an outcast, a pariah! Let me take you to the house. Then you need
never think of me