arness of soprano. Now it threaded a tremulous
pathway among the pathetic minor notes, while the fingers seemed to drop
a faint sigh of accompaniment,--

"Oh! when ye hear me gie a loud, loud cry,--
The broom blooms bonnie, and says it is fair,--
Shoot an arrow frae thy bow, and there let me lie,
And we'll never gang down to the broom ony mair.

"And when ye see that I'm lying cauld and dead,--
The broom blooms bonnie, and says it is fair,--
Then ye'll put me in a grave wi' a turf at my head,
And we'll never gang down to the broom ony mair."

The last sad note died into summer-night sweetness. A current of bland,
dangerous magnetism passed between them. She turned her splendid,
passion-lighted eyes to him, and the subtle, measuring, conquering
forces in the man and the woman met. With a mighty effort he thrust back
desire, and compressed his lips to a line under the bronzed-gold
moustache, while his eyes, like points of steel, never wavered.

Irene Lawrence turned blindly, and held out her hands as if to grasp
some sure stay. Just as surely as she had not won, she had lost.

"I have tired you," he said,--a murmur just under his breath. "But you
can hardly know the exquisite pleasure you have given me. It is perfect.
We will have no more music to-night;" and he rose, shutting the piano
down.

She went to the open window like one in a trance, so stunned she could
not even feel angry at his defiance of her. A long, long moment of
silence: then they heard Sylvie's bright voice on the porch, and she
came in with a waft of dewy, outdoor fragrance.

Miss Lawrence went to her room presently, to fight out the battle with
herself. She admitted then that she had come to love Jack Darcy; but she
was strong and resolute, and would not be mastered by the passion. What
could she do? for go away she must! Her imperious will and knowledge of
men had availed her little to ward off this one's influence. Every
instinct had been baffled, every movement had been met with a
counterpoise. To stay here, and struggle, would be to yield eventually.

There were dark circles under her eyes the next morning, tokens of her
vigil and strife. She intrenched herself again behind that dumb apathy:
she stood aloof from Sylvie. For days she escaped the watchful sight of
Darcy; but she heard his voice, and every rebellious pulse was
a-tremble. She cast abou