I so hateful to you that you cannot bear my touch?" he asked half
wistfully, half angrily.

"Oh no; it isn't that. I'm really very fond of you, if you'd only
understand," I said half to myself.

"Understand! If you care for me, that is all I want to understand. I love
you, and have plenty of money. There is nothing to keep us apart. Now
that I know you care for me, I _will_ have you, in spite of the devil."

"There will he a great tussle between you," I said mischievously,
laughing at him. "Old Nick has a great hold on me, and I'm
sure he will dispute your right."

At any time Harold's sense of humour was not at all in accordance with
his size, and he failed to see how my remark applied now.

He gripped my hands in a passion of pleading, as two years previously he
had seized me in jealous rage. He drew me to him. His eyes were dark and
full of entreaty; his voice was husky.

"Syb, poor little Syb, I will be good to you! You can have what you like.
You don't know what you mean when you say no."

No; I would not yield. He offered me everything--but control. He was a man
who meant all he said. His were no idle promises on the spur of the
moment. But no, no, no, no, he was not for me. My love must know, must
have suffered, must understand.

"Syb, you do not answer. May I call you mine? You must, you must, you
must!"

His hot breath was upon my cheek. The pleasant, open, manly
countenance was very near-perilously near. The intoxication of his love
was overpowering me. I had no hesitation about trusting him. He was not
distasteful to me in any way. What was the good of waiting for that
other--the man who had suffered, who knew, who understood? I might never
find him; and, if I did, ninety-nine chances to one he would not care for
me.

"Syb, Syb, can't you love me just a little?"

There was a winning charm in his manner. Nature had endowed him
liberally with virile fascination. My hard uncongenial life had rendered
me weak. He was drawing me to him; he was irresistible. Yes; I would be
his wife. I grew dizzy, and turned my head sharply backwards and took a
long gasping breath, another and another, of that fresh cool air
suggestive of the grand old sea and creak of cordage and bustle and
strife of life. My old spirit revived, and my momentary weakness fled.
There was another to think of than myself, and that was Harold. Under a
master-hand I would be harmless; but to this man I would be as a
two-edged sword in the