rds so faintly were they breathed. "I'm overwhelmed, but
not convinced. I'm ready to choose because your will has proven the
stronger--but I know that it's only a triumph of passion over right.
Some day we may both realize that--and hate each other."

"But you have chosen! You've risen above the bigotry of your blood!"

"No. I'm just conquered--whipped into submission. I told you you might
attack when you liked.... I thought I was strong ... and I wasn't. It
isn't a victory over my strength--but over my weakness. To-night I was
utterly helpless."

She seemed stronger now, and in a sudden bewilderment the man released
her and she stood before him pale but no longer inert.

"Then--then," he spoke with a new note of misgiving, "your decision is
not final after all?"

That word "helpless" was ringing like a knell over his late triumph. It
tinged victory with a hideous color of rapacity and brutality.

"Yes--it's final." She spoke slowly and laboriously. "It's final because
I've confessed my helplessness. If I rallied and resisted you to-night
... I know now ... that I'd surrender again to-morrow. There's only one
way I can be saved now."

"Saved--but you've saved yourself. What do you mean?"

"No, I've lost myself. You've won me ... but that's over. I can't fight
any more.... I tell you I'm helpless." After a moment she added with a
ghost of new-born hopefulness: "unless you can do my fighting for me."

"What would you have me do?" His words came flatly and with no trace of
their recent elation.

"It is for you to say, Stuart. I'm yours.... I have no right to ask
mercy ... when I lost ... when I love you so that ... that I can't
resist you."

"So, the code of your fathers still holds you," he said miserably. "The
undertow."

"I believe in what I've always believed," she told him. "Only I can't
go on fighting for it any longer. It's for you to decide now ... but you
inherited a code, too ... a code that has honor for its cornerstone, and
that might be able to put generosity above victory.... I wonder if it
could ... or if I'm worth the effort."

"Honor!" he exclaimed with deep bitterness. "A word with a thousand
meanings and no single meaning! A tyrant that smugly rides down thought
and tramps on happiness!"

"Honor has a single meaning for a woman." She laid both hands on his
shoulders and looked into his eyes. Her own held a mute appeal stronger
than words, and her voice was infinitely tender.

"Stuart,