t--! Oh,
no! You know you can trust me. On my honour, I take breath from you. You
are my better in everything--guide, goddess, dearest heart! Trust me;
make me master of your fate.'

'But my friend!' the murmur hung in her throat. He was marvellously
transformed; he allowed no space for the arts of defence and evasion.

'I wish I had the trick of courting. There's not time; and I 'm a
simpleton at the game. We can start this evening. Once away, we leave it
to them to settle the matter, and then you are free, and mine to the
death.'

'But speak, speak! What is it?' Diana said.

'That if we delay, I 'm in danger of losing you altogether.'

Her eyes lightened: 'You mean that you have heard he has determined--?'

'There's a process of the law. But stop it. Just this one step, and it
ends. Whether intended or not, it hangs over you, and you will be
perpetually tormented. Why waste your whole youth?--and mine as well! For
I am bound to you as much as if we had stood at the altar--where we will
stand together the instant you are free.'

'But where have you heard . . .?

'From an intimate friend. I will tell you--sufficiently intimate--from
Lady Wathin. Nothing of a friend, but I see this woman at times. She
chose to speak of it to me it doesn't matter why. She is in his
confidence, and pitched me a whimpering tale. Let those people chatter.
But it 's exactly for those people that you are hanging in chains, all
your youth shrivelling. Let them shout their worst! It's the bark of a
day; and you won't hear it; half a year, and it will be over, and I shall
bring you back--the husband of the noblest bride in Christendom! You
don't mistrust me?'

'It is not that,' said she. 'But now drop my hand. I am imprisoned.'

'It's asking too much. I've lost you--too many times. I have the hand and
I keep it. I take nothing but the hand. It's the hand I want. I give you
mine. I love you. Now I know what love is!--and the word carries nothing
of its weight. Tell me you do not doubt my honour.'

'Not at all. But be rational. I must think, and I cannot while you keep
my hand.'

He kissed it. 'I keep my own against the world.'

A cry of rebuke swelled to her lips at his conqueror's tone. It was not
uttered, for directness was in his character and his wooing loyal--save
for bitter circumstances, delicious to hear; and so narrow was the ring
he had wound about her senses, that her loathing of the circumstances
pushed her to acknowled