ould
force him to make such a sacrifice."

Harley smiled, and his smile was rarely tender, because he was thinking
at that moment of Sylvia.

"The sacrifice was not to help his own cause, but the cause of another,
the cause of the man who beat him--that is, seemed to beat him. Mr. Lee,
through his victory to-night, wins the girl whom he loves, and he could
have won her in no other way. There are people who can do great deeds
and make great sacrifices for love, even to help the love of two others.
It will be printed in every paper of the United States in the morning
that Mr. Grayson was defeated in debate to-night by a young local
lawyer. His prestige will be greatly impaired."

Her eyes glowed, and her face, too, became rarely tender.

"Uncle James was truly great to-night!" she exclaimed.

"At his greatest. I know of no other man who could have done it. After
all, Sylvia, don't you think love is the greatest and purest of motives,
and that we should consider it first?"

"John," she said, and it was the first time that she had ever called him
by his first name, "you must not tempt me to break my sacred word to the
man to whom I owe all things. Oh, John, don't you see how hard it is for
me, and won't you help me to bear it, instead of making the burden
heavier?"

She turned upon him a face of such pathetic appeal that Harley was
abashed.

"Sylvia," he replied, almost in a whisper, "God knows that I do not wish
to make you unhappy, nor do I wish to make you do what is wrong. I spoke
so because I could not help it. Do you think that I can love you, and
know you to be what you are, and then stand idly by and see you passing
to another? I believe in silence and endurance, but not in such silence
and endurance as that. It is too much! God never asks it of a man!"

She looked at him. Her eyes were dewy and tender, filled with love, a
love tinged with sorrow, but he saw the brave resolution shining there,
and he knew that, despite all, she would keep her word unless "King"
Plummer himself willingly released her from it. And he loved her all the
more because she was so true.

"Sylvia," he said, "I was wrong. I should not have spoken to you in such
a manner. I am a weak coward to make your duty all the harder for you."

They were at the "ladies' entrance" of the hotel, and the others either
had gone in or had turned aside. They were alone, and she bent a little
towards him.

"The things that you say may be wrong,"