ot take me a week," she went on with no change in her
monotone; "I can give you an answer in a day or two. To-morrow night,
perhaps."

He made a step forward, a movement to seize her hand; but she stepped
back and waved him off.

"Don't touch me," she cried in a suppressed voice; "at least you are not
my husband--yet."

She turned hastily toward the door without another word.

"Wait!"

His vibrant voice compelled her to turn.

"I want no martyr for a wife, nor yet a tragedy queen. If you can come
to me and honestly say, 'I trust my happiness to you,' well and good.
But as I told you once before, I am not a saint, and I cannot always
control myself as I have been forced to do tonight. If this admission is
damaging, it is too true to be put lightly aside. I shall not detain you
longer."

He looked haughty and cold regarding her from this dim distance. Her
gentleness struggled to get the better of her, and she came back and
held out her hand.

"I am sorry if I offended you, Louis; good-night. Will you not pardon my
selfishness?"

His eyes gleamed behind their glasses; he did not take her hand, but
merely bent over the little peace-offering as over a sacrament. Seeing
that he had no intention of doing more, her hand fell passively to her
side, and she left the room.

As the door closed softly, Arnold sank with a hopeless gesture into
a chair and buried his face in his hands. He was not a stoic, but a
man,--a Frenchman, who loved much; but Arnold, half-blinded by his own
love, scarcely appreciated the depths of self-forgetfulness to which
Ruth would have to succumb in order to accept the guaranty of happiness
which he offered her.

The question now presented itself in the light of a duty: if by this
action she could undo the remorse that her former offence had inflicted,
had she the right to ignore the opportunity? A vision of her own sad
face obtruded itself, but she put it sternly from her. If she were to do
this thing, the motive alone must be considered; and she rigidly kept
in view the fact that her marriage would be the only means by which her
father might be relieved of the haunting knowledge of her lost peace
of mind. Had she given one thought to Louis, the possibility of the act
would have been abhorrent to her. One picture she kept constantly before
her,--her father's happy eyes.

Chapter XXII

Mrs. Levice's gaze strayed pensively from the violets she was
embroidering to Ruth's pale face. Eve