ord in self-defense; she only wept and sobbed as if
her heart were bursting.

By this time the frenzy of passion had spent itself, and there came a
reaction that brought him to his senses. He looked down at Odalite in her
misery. He saw in her now, not the faithless sweetheart, but the child of
his boyish love and care.

He stooped and raised her up, and set her on the bench again, laying her
head upon his shoulder, and supporting her form with his arm around her
waist.

She made no resistance, but continued to weep convulsively.

As soon as he was able to command himself he spoke to her in a quiet
tone.

"Odalite, why do you cry so hard? If you are going to marry this man to
please yourself you should be happy, in spite of anything that I should
say about it. Now, why do you grieve so much?"

"Oh! I have been so faithless to you, Le! I have been--so base to you! Oh!
I wish I were dead! I wish I had died before I betrayed your trust in me,
Le!"

These words came in spasmodic gasps and sighs from the white and quivering
lips.

He looked at her searchingly, incisively; he could not understand her.

"Odalite," he said, suddenly, "I am full of doubt. I ask you again, and I
charge you in the name of all that is pure and holy, to answer me truly:
Was it of your own free will that you engaged yourself to Col. Anglesea?"

"Yes, yes! I repeat it: No one forced me, no one persuaded me. My father
and my mother let me do just as I pleased," she sobbed.

"And yet, though you say this, you seem so miserable over it all! I cannot
comprehend it!" muttered Leonidas Force, carrying his hand to his forehead
and trying to reflect on the situation. "But--yes--I think I do now," he
said, suddenly, as a light seemed to break on his mind.

Odalite raised her pale and tearful face from his shoulder and looked at
him.

"I think I understand now, my dear; and it shall all come right yet."

She sorrowfully shook her head.

"Oh, yes; it shall come right. Confess now, Odalite. When your boy lover
had been gone away so long that you had almost forgotten him, this foreign
officer comes along and fascinates you with his splendor, as the
rattlesnake fascinates the humming bird, and you were drawn in. Now,
however, that I have come back, the old-time love has revived, and you are
sorry that you mistook your heart and engaged yourself to this brilliant
stranger. Is it not so? Tell me, Odalite. If it is so--as I feel sure it
must be--the