BARBARA
“Then you may go.” She pointed imperiously to the door.
“You are cruel. And if I do give them?”
Her face lighted.
“Ah. If you give them, perhaps—”
He leaned forward. “Well?”
“Perhaps—perhaps—you may have an answer.”
When he took her hand again she gave it to him unresistingly. “If I give you these papers, will you promise me—to be my wife?”
She had attained her end and at the price she had expected to pay. And yet she hesitated. She dropped her head and her figure seemed to relax and grow smaller under his touch. He leaned over her, expectancy and delight written upon his features.
“Will you promise, Barbara?” he repeated.
She straightened her head, but did not draw away as she answered, at last: “I will.”
He put his hands in his breast, and, drawing out the packet, laid it before her upon the table.
“There is my honor, Barbara. Take it. I
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