? Now?" demanded Andras, awaiting the word which, in her
overstrung condition, Marsa had almost spoken. "Now?"

But she did not speak these words which Zilah begged for with newly
awakened hope. She longed to end this interview which was killing her,
and in broken accents asked him to excuse her, to forgive her--but she
was really ill.

"But if you are suffering, I can not, I will not leave you."

"I implore you. I need to be alone."

"At least you will permit me to come to-morrow, Marsa, and ask for your
answer?"

"My answer? I have given it to you."

"No! No! I do not accept that refusal. No! you did not know what you
were saying. I swear to you, Marsa, that without you life is impossible
to me; all my existence is bound up in yours. You will reflect there was
an accent in your voice which bade me hope. I will come again to-morrow.
Tomorrow, Marsa. What you have said to-day does not count. Tomorrow,
to-morrow; and remember that I adore you."

And she, shuddering at the tones of his voice, not daring to say no,
and to bid him an eternal farewell, let him depart, confident, hopeful,
despite the silence to which she obstinately, desperately clung. Then,
when Andras was gone, at the end of her strength, she threw herself,
like a mad woman, down upon the divan. Once alone, she gave way utterly,
sobbing passionately, and then, suddenly ceasing, with wild eyes fixed
upon vacancy, to mutter with dry, feverish lips:

"Yet--it is life he brings to me--happiness he offers me. Have I no
right to be happy--I? My God! To be the wife of such a man! To love
him--to devote myself to him-to make his existence one succession of
happy days! To be his slave, his thing! Shall I marry him? Or--shall I
kill myself? Kill myself!" with a horrible, agonizing laugh. "Yes, that
is the only thing for me to do. But--but--I am a coward, now that I
love him--a coward! a coward! a miserable wretch!" And she fell headlong
forward, crouching upon the floor in a fierce despair, as if either life
or reason was about to escape from her forever.

CHAPTER IX. "O LIBERTY! O LOVE! THESE TWO I NEED!"

When Zilah came the next day he found Marsa perfectly calm. At first he
only questioned her anxiously as to her health.

"Oh! I am well," she replied, smiling a little sadly; and, turning to
the piano at which she was seated, she began to play the exquisitely sad
romance which was her favorite air.

"That is by Janos Nemeth, is it not?" asked t