ieve, we must thank fate for giving
us this one peep into paradise--and we must try and find the angel
to steer our barks for us beyond the rocks. Listen--I want you to
do something for me to-night. I want you not to look at me much, or
tempt me with your dear voice. It will be terribly hard in any
case, but if you will be kind you will help me to get through with
it, and then, and then--I hardly dare to look ahead--but I leave it
all in your hands. I would like to meet your mother and sister--but
when, and where? I feel inclined to say, not yet, only I know that
is just cowardice, and a shrinking from possible pain in seeing
you. So I leave it to you to do what is best, and I trust to your
honor and your love not to tempt me beyond bearing-point--and
remember, I am trying, trying hard, to do what is right--and trying
not to love you.

"And so, good-bye. I must never say this again--or even think it
unsaid; but to-night, oh! Yes, Hector, know that I love you!
THEODORA."

And all the way to Madrid, as he flew along in his automobile, his heart
rejoiced at this one sentence--"Yes, Hector, know that I love you!"

The rest of the world did not seem to matter very much. How fortunate it
is that so often Providence lets us live on the pleasure of the moment!

He sat on her left hand--the Austrian Prince was on her right--and
studiously all through the repast he tried to follow her wishes and the
law he had laid down for himself as the pattern of his future conduct.

He was gravely polite, he never turned the conversation away from the
general company, including her neighbors in it all the time, and only
when he was certain she was not noticing did he feast his eyes upon her
face.

She was looking supremely beautiful. If possible, whiter than usual, and
there was a shadow in her eyes as of mystery, which had not been there
before--and while their pathos wrung his heart, he could not help
perceiving their added beauty. And he had planted this change there--he,
and he alone. He admired her perfect taste in dress--she was all in pure
white, muslin and laces, and he knew it was of the best, and the
creation of the greatest artist.

She looked just what _his_ wife ought to look, infinitely refined and
slender and stately and fair.

Morella Winmarleigh would seem as a large dun cow beside her.

Then