through which we both passed--that
ordeal by fire. Ella, we were plucked from the fire--she plucked us from
the very fire of hell itself--oh, don't let us drift in that direction
again!"

He had walked away from her. He was beginning to recall too vividly
the old days, under the influence of her gracious presence so close to
him--not so close as it had been, but still close enough to bring back
old memories.

"Come here and stand beside me, Bertie," said she.

After a moment's hesitation he went to her, slowly, not with the rapture
of a lover--not with the old passion trembling in his hands, on his
lips.

He went to her.

She put her hands behind her and looked at him in the face for a long
time. The even-songs of the birds mixed with the scent of the roses; the
blue shadow of the twilight was darkening over the trees at the foot of
her garden.

"Do you remember the oleanders?" she said. "I never breathe in such a
twilight as this without seeing before me the oleanders outlined against
its blue. It was very sweet at that old place on the Arno."

"Ella, Ella--for God's sake----"

"You told me that terrible secret of your life--that you loved me. I
wonder if I knew what it meant, Bertie? I told you that I loved you:
that was more terrible still. I wonder if you knew what that meant,
Bertie?"

He did not speak.

The bird's songs outside were becoming softer and more intermittent.

She gave a sudden cry as if stung with pain, and started away from the
window. She threw herself down on the couch, burying her face in the
pillows--he could see through the dim room the whiteness of her arms.
She was breathing convulsively; but she was not sobbing.

He remained beside the open window. He, too, was not breathing so
regularly as he had breathed a short time before.

He heard the sigh that came from her as she raised her head from the
pillow.

Then she said:

"I wonder if you ever really loved me, Bertie."

"Oh, my God!"

"I wonder if you ever loved me; and I wonder if I ever loved you until
this moment."

There was a silence. Outside there was a little whisper of moving wings,
but no voice of bird.

There was a silence, and out of it a low voice cried softly, softly:

"Bertie, Bertie, my love, come to me."

He took a step toward her, a second step--and then he stood, rigid,
breathless, for he heard another soft voice that said:

"_His honor is the honor of his mother and his sister, upon which no
st