e busy
streets. The land baron expanded into his old self; he strode at her
side, gratified by the scrutiny she invited; assurance radiated from
his eyes like some magnetic heat; he played at possession wilfully,
perversely. "Why not," whispered Hope. "A woman's mind is shifting
ever. Her fancy--a breath! The other is gone. Why--"

"It was not accident my being in the cemetery, Miss Carew," said
Mauville, suddenly covering her with his glance. Meeting her look of
surprise unflinchingly, he continued: "I followed you there; through
the streets, into the country! My seeing you first was chance; my
presence in the burial ground the result of that chance. The
inevitable result!" he repeated softly. "As inevitable as life! Life;
what is it? Influences which control us; forces which bind us! It is
you, or all; you or nothing!"

She did not reply; his voice, vibrating with feeling, touched no
answering chord. Nevertheless, a new, inexplicable wave of sorrow
moved her. It might be he had cared for her as sincerely as it was
possible for his wayward heart to care for any one. Perhaps time would
yet soften his faults, and temper his rashness. With that shade of
sorrow for him there came compassion as well; compassion that
overlooked the past and dwelt on the future.

She raised her steady eyes. "Why should it be 'I or nothing,' as you
put it?" she finally answered slowly. "Influences may control us in a
measure, but we may also strive for something. We can always strive."

"For what? For what we don't want? That's the philosophy of your
moralists, Miss Carew," he exclaimed. "That's your modern ethics of
duty. Playing tricks with happiness! The game isn't worth the candle.
Or, if you believe in striving," he added, half resentfully, half
imploringly, "strive to care for me but a little. But a little!" he
said again. "I who once wanted all, and would have nothing but all, am
content to ask, to plead, for but a little."

"I see no reason," she replied, wearily, yet not unkindly, "why we
should not be friends."

"Friends!" he answered, bitterly. "I do not beg for a loaf, but
a crumb. Yet you refuse me that! I will wait! Only a word of
encouragement! Will you not give it?"

She turned and looked into his eyes, and, before she spoke, he knew
what her answer would be.

"How can I?" she said, simply. "Why should I promise something I can
never fulfil?"

He held her glance as though loath to have it leave him.

"May I see yo