breathed in passionate earnestness, "no promise of happiness for the future, no single thing that the future might hold in store for you, no dream that might come true, that will make you speak, that—"
Grey to the lips, his face full of the agony he could not hide, he broke in hoarsely upon her words.
"Miss Rand, be merciful!"
"I am merciful," she said tensely. "Be merciful to yourself. I shall never try to make you speak again, but for this once—"
"You do not know what you are saying," he said desperately.
"—But for this once," she went on resolutely, "I must not let you put me off. It—it was one of the things I came for. I honour you for what I believe you have taken upon yourself—I think it was one of the finest acts a man has ever done—but it is terrible. It is for all your life. If you are not caught, you must always be a fugitive. See, I am pleading with you as if—as if I were fighting for my own happiness—for the last time."
"The last time?" he repeated numbly. He raised his eyes to the cliff again—the figure far above them was still silhouetted against the skyline.
"Yes; for the last time," she said after him. "I must go in a moment, and—and to-night you must leave here to—"
"It is true," said Varge—the figure on the skyline was moving back now, disappearing from view. The distance had made the recognition doubtful, would have made it impossible, in fact, if he had not been forewarned; but there was no doubt now, there was some-
