"You must despise me," she said in a wondering way, "and yet you say that!" "If I did despise you, still it would be true. But I worship you." "I must not! I must not! You must go to her. She saved you. Leave me, Dale, and go back. You must not come again." He burst out in wrath: "Now, by God, I will not leave you or let you go! Mine you are, and mine you shall be!" and he seized her by the wrist. She gave a startled cry that recalled him to gentleness. "Did I frighten you, my beauty? But it is so, and it must be. It is sweet of you to offer--to make much of what she did, and little of yourself. I love you more for it. But we have done with that now. Come to me, Jan." "I can't! I can't! She would always be between us; I should always see her between us. O Dale, how can you leave her?" "I have never loved her. I have never promised her," he replied sternly. "It is all a mere delusion. A man's love is not to be turned by folly like this." She answered nothing, and sank back in her chair again. "If it's jealousy," he went on, "it is unworthy of you, and an insult to me. And if it's not jealousy, it's mere madness." "Can't you understand?" she murmured. "How can I take what is hers?" "I can take what is mine, and I will. You gave yourself to me, and I will not let you go." Still she said nothing, and he tried gentleness once more. "Come, Jan, sweetest, you have made your offering--your sweet, Quixotic self-sacrifice--and it is not accepted! Say that's my want of moral altitude, if you like. So be it. I won't sacrifice myself." "It's for her to take, not for you. I offer it to her, not to you." "But I don't offer it to her. Would she care for such an offer? She may love me or not--I don't know; but if she does, she will not take my hand without my heart." "You must love her. If you could love me, how much more must you love her?" "You are mad!" he answered, almost roughly, "mad to say such a thing! I know you love me, and I will not listen to it. Do you hear? I shall come back and see you again, and I will not listen to this." She heard his imperious words with no sign but a little shiver. "There," he went on, "you are still ill. I'll come back." "No use," she murmured. "I can't, Dale." "But you will, and you shall!" he cried. "You shall see----" The door opened, and the nurse came in to forbid his further lingering. With a distant good-by, he left Janet motionless and pale, and, hastening downstairs, went to the Squire's room. "I have come," he said abruptly, "to ask your sanction to my engagement with your daughter." The Squire laid down his book. "I'm not much surprised," he said, smiling. "What does Jan say?" Dale launched out into a history of the sweet things Janet had said, and of the strange, wild things she said now. The Squire heard of the latter with raised eyebrows. "Very odd," he commented. "But it seems, my dear fellow, that, for good reasons or bad, at present she says No."