is face. It was
unwise of him to touch me against my will, for the fire flashed into my
eyes, and my anger gave me strength.

"Margharita, what does this mean? You do care for a me a little, don't
you?"

"No!"

I lied, God knows, and all in vain.

"Perhaps not so very much now," he said, with a little sigh, "but you
will some day. I know that you will. Be generous, Margharita, give me a
little hope."

I laid my hand upon his arm. How could I convince him. Anger, lies,
reasoning, all seemed so weak and ineffective; and he was so
strong--strong in his own love, strong unconsciously in mine.

"Lord Lumley, I can only give you one answer, and that is--'No.' Nothing
can change me. I would sooner throw myself from these cliffs than become
your wife."

He considered for a moment, while I watched him anxiously.

"I have a right to know your reason for that speech," he said in a low
but firm tone. "Give me your hands for one moment, Margharita--so! Now,
look me in the eyes, and tell me that you do not care for me!"

I was a fool to try. I might have known that, after all I had passed
through that day, it was beyond my strength. I got as far as the first
three words, and then I burst into tears. His whole face lit up with joy
at my failure.

"I am satisfied!" he said, drawing my hand through his arm. "Come! we
will go back to the house. I must not have you catch cold!"

He spoke with an air of fond proprietorship which made my heart tremble,
but I had no more words left with which to fight my battle. My strength
was gone; I did not even try to withdraw my hand.

We walked away, and I did my best to choke the hysterical sobs which
threatened me. Directly we left the shelter of the pine grove, speech
became impossible. We had to fight our way along, step by step, with the
wind and rain beating in our faces. I was thankful for it, for the
physical effort seemed to stimulate and calm me.

When at last we reached the house and stood inside the hall, he turned
to me and spoke for the first time.

"That walk was quite an event, wasn't it? Let me feel how wet you are."

He ran his fingers down my arm and back, and then rang the hall bell
violently.

"You are wet through," he said gravely. "And it is my fault. Instead of
bringing you home at once, as I ought to have done, I kept you out there
talking. Run upstairs at once, Margharita, please, and change all your
things. I will send up hot water."

He had been hurryi