tiful woman, I may
say--your beauty ought to be a fortune to you--but you lack style. I
must take you in hand," she continued, talking all the way to the door.
"I shall need some amusement after Christian's marriage, to keep me
from being jealous of his little wife;" and she disappeared through the
door, little dreaming of the arrow she had sent to the poor heart.

Mary caught her breath, and Christian saw her stagger at the shot. Taken
by surprise, completely off his guard, he opened his arms and received
the stricken girl in his bosom, and pressed his lips to hers. But Mary
had not lost her consciousness. Quickly recovering, she disengaged
herself and reached a chair. She was more self-possessed than he. He sat
down beside her, quivering in every fibre.

"Mary! Mary!" he cried in passionate beseechment, "I never meant to win
your love to betray it. We have both been surprised into a confession of
our love for each other, and now let me lay open my heart to you. I do
love you, as you must have seen, for I have not been always able to keep
the love out of my eyes and voice. You will recall one evening--I know
you must remember it--when I was near declaring my love and asking you
to be my wife. I don't know why I did not--why I left my story but half
told. I sometimes wish that I had declared myself fully, and that we
were now pledged to each other. But the very next morning I sustained
heavy losses in my business, and others soon followed, and to-day I am
threatened with utter ruin. If I cannot raise a hundred thousand dollars
this week, and as much in another week, I am a bankrupt. And now you
will understand why in two days I am to marry Miss Jerome."

Mary started again. Was the execution, then, so near? She drew a long
breath, as though gathering her strength for a hard struggle.
"Christian," she said in a low tone that trembled with the energy
underlying it, "my poor Christian, you are bewildered. These troubles
have shut the light away from your path, and you have lost your way in
the darkness. If this is true which you have told me, do you not see
that when you have delivered yourself from this threatened bankruptcy,
you are yet a bankrupt--a bankrupt in heart and happiness? How can you
weigh wealth and position against the best good than can ever come to
either of us? I am not afraid of poverty, for I have known nothing else;
and surely you do not dread it for yourself. This love is the one good
thing which Go