the hurt, the pain of this, had brought it back, God knew how innocently, how unintentionally, upon her now—grim, mocking irony blending an agony of bliss!
His hand rose slowly to his hat and he stood bareheaded as she came.
Softly, wondrously the moonlight played upon her, seeming to hold her in its embrace, lingering on the little white-shod feet, creeping so reverently around the graceful form, flooding the full throat, the sweet face, the golden hair with its mellow radiance—glorying in its right to its caress.
She stood before him now, so small, so delicate in her beauty, like some pure, God-given angel, and a fragrance as of some rare perfume was about her. The long lashes fell suddenly, hiding the great blue eyes, and her head was lowered, bowed a little.
"You have come here, Varge"—the words came very slowly in an unsteady voice—"here where—where your danger is very terrible, and you have taken this frightful risk because, because—will you tell me why?"
Lie to her? Yes! Yes, a thousand times now—if there were but one lie to tell! The knotted cords at his temples, throbbing, throbbing, seemed that they must burst their bounds; the brown hair falling over his forehead cloaked beads of moisture that sprang out upon his brow—and no word would come to his lips, his brain seemed blunted, dulled, in chaos, in turmoil.
A long, long time the silence held, and then she spoke again, her head a little lower.
"You—you are making it very hard for me," she whispered. "You will not answer and—and I know. I—I knew on the beach that day—did you think I did
