l or nothing with you, just as it is
with me. But for that we could have stood together. I'm sorry, Martin;
I like you, you know."

For the life of me I had never been able to help liking him.

"But likings mustn't interfere with duty," he went on, smiling. "What
claim have you at my hands?"

"Decent burial, I suppose," I answered.

He got up and paced the room for a moment or two. I waited with some
anxiety, for life is worth something to a young man, even when things
look blackest, and I never was a hero.

"I make you this offer," he said at last. "Your boat lies there,
ready. Get into her and go, otherwise--"

"I see," said I. "And you will marry her?"

"Yes," he said.

"Against her will?"

He looked at me with something like pity.

"Who can tell what a woman's will will be in a week? In less than that
she will marry me cheerfully. I hope you may grieve as short a time as
she will."

In my inmost heart I knew it was true. I had staked everything, not
for a woman's love, but for the whim of a girl! For a moment it was
too hard for me, and I bowed my head on the table by me and hid my
face.

Then he came and put his hand on mine, and said:

"Yes, Martin; young and old, we are all alike. They're not worth
quarreling for. But Nature's too strong."

"May I see her before I go?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Alone?"

"Yes," he said once more. "Go now--if she can see you."

I went up and cautiously opened the door. The signorina was lying on
the bed, with a shawl over her. She seemed to be asleep. I bent over
her and kissed her. She opened her eyes, and said, in a weary voice:

"Is it you, Jack?"

"Yes, my darling," said I. "I am going. I must go or die; and whether
I go or die, I must be alone."

She was strangely quiet--even apathetic. As I knelt down by her she
raised herself, and took my face between her hands and kissed me--not
passionately, but tenderly.

"My poor Jack!" she said; "it was no use, dear. It is no use to fight
against him."

Here was her strange subjection to that influence again.

"You love me?" I cried, in my pain.

"Yes," she said, "but I am very tired; and he will be good to me."

Without another word I went from her, with the bitter knowledge that
my great grief found but a pale reflection in her heart.

"I am ready to go," I said to the President.

"Come, then," he replied. "Here, take these, you may want them," and
he thrust a bundle of notes into my hand (some