er white
fingers together. "Shall I not bring you the loot of a temple or two?
They say the priests have become very corruptible since our
missionaries got there--the false religion tumbling all to pieces
before the true."

Still she made no answer, and the fixed smile on her face looked as if
she hardly heard what he was saying. But he went on in the same light,
bantering tone.

"Shall I bring you back a Jinrickishaw?"

"What in the world is that--but, no matter what it is--tell me, are you
really going so soon?"

If Farnham had not been the most modest of men, the tone in which this
question was asked would have taught him that he need not exile
himself. But he answered seriously:

"Yes, I am really going."

"But why?" The question came from unwilling lips, but it would have its
way. The challenge was more than Farnham could endure. He spoke out
with quick and passionate earnestness:

"Must I tell you then? Do you not know? I am going because you send
me."

"Oh, no," she murmured, with flaming cheeks and downcast eyes.

"I am going because I love you, and I cannot bear to see you day by
day, and know that you are not for me. You are too young and too good
to understand what I feel. If I were a saint like you, perhaps I might
rejoice in your beauty and your grace without any selfish wish--but I
cannot. If you are not to be mine, I cannot enjoy your presence. Every
charm you have is an added injury, if I am to be indifferent to you."

Her hands flew up and covered her eyes. She was so happy that she
feared he would see it and claim her too soon and too swiftly.

He mistook the gesture, and went on in his error.

"There! I have made you angry, or wounded you again. It would be so
continually, if I should stay. I should be giving you offence every
hour in the day. I cannot help loving you, any more than I can help
breathing. This is nothing to you or worse than nothing, but it is all
my life to me. I do not know how it will end. You have filled every
thought of my mind, every vein of my body. I am more you than myself.
How can I separate myself from you?"

As he poured out these words, and much more, hot as a flood of molten
metal, Alice slowly recovered her composure. She was absolutely and
tranquilly happy--so perfectly at rest that she hardly cared for the
pain her lover was confessing. She felt she could compensate him for
everything, and every word he said filled her with a delight which she
could n