as a wild rose in May. Reports had
reached her; but no--they could not be true! She bade him be thankful
that not a breath of suspicion had yet touched Aileen. As for herself,
let him write and reassure her at once. Otherwise--

And the latter part of the letter conveyed a veiled menace that
Warkworth perfectly understood.

No--in that direction, no escape; his own past actions closed him in.
And henceforth, it was clear, he must walk more warily.

But how blame himself for these feelings of which he was now conscious
towards Julie Le Breton--the strongest, probably, that a man not built
for passion would ever know. His relation towards her had grown upon him
unawares, and now their own hands were about to cut it at the root. What
blame to either of them? Fate had been at work; and he felt himself
glorified by a situation so tragically sincere, and by emotions of which
a month before he would have secretly held himself incapable.

Resolutely, in this last meeting with Julie, he gave these emotions
play. He possessed himself of her cold hands as she put her desolate
question--"And then?"--and kissed them fervently.

"Julie, if you and I had met a year ago, what happened in India would
never have happened. You know that!"

"Do I? But it only hurts me to _think it away_ like that. There it
is--it has happened."

She turned upon him suddenly.

"Have you any picture of her?"

He hesitated.

"Yes," he said, at last.

"Have you got it here?"

"Why do you ask, dear one? This one evening is _ours_."

And again he tried to draw her to him. But she persisted.

"I feel sure you have it. Show it me."

"Julie, you and you only are in my thoughts!"

"Then do what I ask." She bent to him with a wild, entreating air; her
lips almost touched his cheek. Unwillingly he drew out a letter-case
from his breast-pocket, and took from it a little photograph which he
handed to her.

She looked at it with eager eyes. A face framed, as it were, out of snow
and fire lay in her hand, a thing most delicate, most frail, yet steeped
in feeling and significance--a child's face with its soft curls of brown
hair, and the upper lip raised above the white, small teeth, as though
in a young wonder; yet behind its sweetness, what suggestions of a
poetic or tragic sensibility! The slender neck carried the little head
with girlish dignity; the clear, timid eyes seemed at once to shrink
from and trust the spectator.

Julie returned the lit