"Don't put the word excuse anywhere near yourself when you are talking
of Lanse; I won't bear it. And nothing is wrong that we cannot possibly
help, Margaret; any one would tell you that. If it is something beyond
our wills, we are powerless."

"Against my love for you I may be powerless--I am. But not against the
indulgence of it."

"You are too strong," he began, "_I_ couldn't pretend--" then he saw how
she was trembling.

From head to foot a quiver had seized her, the lovely shoulders, the
long lithe length of limb which gave her the step he had always admired
so much, the little hands, though she had folded them closely as if
endeavoring to stop it, even the lips with their sweet curves--the
tremor had taken them all from her control; she stood there helpless
before him.

"I can't reason, Margaret, and I won't; in this case reason's wrong, and
you're wrong. You love me--that I know. And the power for good of such a
love as yours--you magnificent woman, not afraid to tell it--that power
shall _not_ be wasted and lost. Have you I will!" It was more than a
touch now; he held her white wrists with a grasp like iron, and drew
her towards him. "I hold you so, but it won't be for long. In reality I
am at your feet," he said.

She had not struggled, she made no effort to free herself. But her eyes
met his, full of an indomitable refusal. "I shall never yield," she
murmured.

Thus they stood for a moment, the two wills grappled in a mute contest.

Then he let her hands drop.

"Useless!" she said, triumphing sadly.

"Though you love me."

"Though I love you."

"It's enough to make a man curse goodness, Margaret; remember that."

"No, no."

"Oh, these good people!" He threw his arm out unconsciously with a force
that would have laid prostrate any one within its reach. "You are an
exception--you are going to suffer; but generally these good people, who
are so hard in their judgment of such things,--they have never suffered
themselves in the least from any of this pain; they have had all they
wish--in the way of love and home, and yet they are always the hardest
upon those who, like me, like you, have nothing--who are parched and
lonely and starved. They would never do so--oh no! they are too good.
All I can say is, let them try it! Margaret"--here he came back to
her--"think of the dreariness of it; leaving everything else aside, just
think of that. We are excited now; but, when this is over, think of the
lon