uld injure his career--his
people threatened to disown him. She gave herself instead to--the
scoundrel whose name I bear--just to set him free."

Again he stopped. Juliet had moved. She was coming up the long room to
him, not quickly, but with purpose. He stood, still facing her, his
breathing short and hard.

Quietly, with that regal bearing that was so supremely her own, she drew
near. And her eyes were shining with a light that made her beautiful. She
reached him and stood before him.

"Dick," she said, "I am not like your mother. I've been fighting against
it, but it's too strong for me. I have got to marry--the man I love."

He made an impotent gesture, and she saw that he was trembling.

She stood a moment, then reached out, took his arms, and drew them
gently round her. "Are you still trying to send me away?" she said.
"Because--it's stronger than both of us, Dick--and I'm not going--I'm
not going!"

He looked into the shining, steadfast eyes, and suddenly the desperate
strain was over. His resistance snapped. "God forgive me!" he said under
his breath, and caught her passionately close.

There was that in his hold--perhaps because of the fulness of her
surrender--that had never been before,--something flaming, something
fiercely electric, in his swift acceptance of her. As he clasped her, she
felt the wild throbbing of his heart like the pulsing force of a racing
engine. He kissed her, and in his kiss there was more than the lover's
adoration. It held the demand and mastery of matehood. By it he claimed
and sealed her for his own.

When his hold relaxed, she made no effort to withdraw herself. She leaned
against him gasping a little, but her eyes--with the glory yet shining in
them--were still raised to his.

"So that's settled, is it?" she said, with a quivering smile. "You are
quite sure, Dick?"

His hands were clasped behind her. His look had a certain burning quality
as if he challenged all the world for her possession.

"What am I to say to you, Juliet?" he said, his words low, deeply
vibrant. "I can't deny--my other self--can I?"

"I don't know," she said. "You were very near it, weren't you? I thought
you had--all these weeks."

"Ah!" His brows contracted. "Will you forgive me, Juliet? I've had--an
infernal time."

"Yes. I know," she said gently.

"No, dear, you don't know. How could you? Your life hasn't been one
perpetual struggle against overwhelming odds like mine." He paused. "Look