ood of his life, he saw himself forced to
make her his prisoner for a few hours. It was a man's birthright to
protect himself, to guard his freedom. And her heart gave him high
praise that toward her he acted with all deference, that with things as
they were, while he was man enough to hold her here, he was too much
the gentleman to make love to her. Would she have resisted, would she
have opposed calm argument against a hot avowal? She did not know.

"Virginia," he said gravely as he slumped down upon the far side of the
fire, "I feel the brute. But . . ."

Yes, she had decided, fully decided, whether if be for better or for
worse. Now she surprised him with one of her quick, bright, friendly
smiles while she interrupted:

"Let us make the best of a bad situation," she said swiftly. "I am not
unhappy right now; I have no wish to run half-way to meet any
unhappiness which may be coming our way. You are not the brute toward
me; what you do, I do not so much as censure you for. I am not going
to quarrel with you; were I in your boots I imagine I'd do just exactly
as you are doing. I hope I'd be as nice about it, too. And now,
before we drop the subject for good and all, let me say this: no matter
what I do, should it even be the betraying you into the hands of your
enemies, to put it quite tragically, I want you to know that I wish you
well and that is why I do it. Can you understand me?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "It's sweet of you, Virginia. If you got my
gun and shot my head off, I don't know who should blame you. I
shouldn't!" he concluded with a forced attempt to match her smile.

"Then we understand each other? As long as each does the best he can
see his way to do, the other finds no fault?" And when he nodded she
rose quickly and came to him, putting out her hand as he rose. "Rod
Norton," she said simply, and her eyes shone steady and clear into his,
"I wish you the best there is. I think we should both pray a little to
God to help us to-night. . . . And now, if you will run up to your
Treasure Chamber and bring down the coffee, I'll promise to be here
when you get back. And to make you a good hot drink; I feel the need
of it and so do you."

He went out without an answer, his face grave and troubled again. As
her eyes followed him they were no longer gay but wistful, and then
filled with a sadness which she had not shown to him, and then suddenly
wet. But before he had gone half a dozen