"Vanna! Was it _this_ you felt--a foretaste of this joy--when you walked into your kingdom and read its message? It's in your Happy Land, my dearest, you have found your love. May it be an omen of the future! Speak to me!... Tell me in words. I have never heard a woman's lips speak to me of love." Vanna looked up at him, a wealth of devotion in the depths of her eloquent eyes, but her lips trembled over the words: "What can I say? The words won't come. I was lonely, too, and you are everything--everything. From the very first day you filled my mind. I thought it was friendship. When I found out, I struggled, but it was no use, so I gave in, and let myself love you more and more. It was my best happiness--the only happiness I could look for. I never ventured to hope that you could love me." He laughed, a low, tender laugh, and framing her face between his hands, lifted it towards his own. "Was I blind and deaf? Could I see you, and talk to you, and listen to your praises from far and near, and keep my head? Do you know in the least what you are like? I'll carry a little mirror in my pocket and let you see yourself some time when you are animated and happy. I'll make you admire yourself." "Have you fallen in love with me for my looks?" "Partly. Certainly. I love your looks, and I won't have them depreciated. And with your goodness, and sweetness, and strength, and your unreasonableness, and temper, and weaknesses--and which I love the most I really can't say. There's not a bit of you I don't love, or would have altered if I could." Vanna shivered. Already the golden moment had passed, and a shadow fell across her joy. This climax of bliss--what could it be but a presage of the end? She drew herself away from Piers's encircling arms. "Ah, what have I done? Piers, what have I done? I have forgotten--we have both forgotten. I told you my secret that day on the cliff when you heard me cry. Do you know _why_ I cried? Because Jean had spoken of a girl in town, with whom she thought you were in love. It tortured me; I was nearly wild with jealousy and despair. And then you came, and I blurted it all out. No! it was not noble. I was thinking of myself. I wanted to get the weight off my mind, that I might enjoy you with an easy mind. I felt that if you knew the worst, and cared to be with me after that, the responsibility was yours, not mine; and I tried--I _tried_ to make you care! I deluded myself, but I know now that I _did_ try. I thought I could not help it, but it was selfish--cowardly. I should have thought of your good. Piers, I can never be your wife; you can never marry me. I have only brought fresh trouble. Can you ever forgive me?" He smiled at her, and, disregarding the outstretched hands, drew her back into his arms.