And then Theodora's blindness fell from her and she knew that she loved him--she had faced the fact at last. And all over her being there thrilled a mad, wild joy. It surged up and crushed out fear and pain--for just one moment--and then she too, in her turn, covered her face with her hands. "Oh, hush! hush!" she said. "What have you done--what have we both done!" It was characteristic of her that now she realized she loved him she did not fence any longer, she never thought of concealing it from him or of blaming him. They were sinners both, he and she equally guilty. Another woman might have argued, "He is fooling me; perhaps he has said these things before--I must at least hide my own heart," but not Theodora. Her trust was complete--she loved him--therefore he was a perfect knight--and if he was wicked she was wicked too. Her gentian eyes were full of tears as she let fall her hands and looked at him. "Oh yes, I have been asleep--I should have known from the beginning why, why I wanted to see you so much--I should never have come--and I should have understood in the wood that we could not leave it without bringing Love with us--and now we may not be happy any more." And then it was his turn to be exalted with wild joy. "Do you know what you have said," he whispered, breathless. "Your words mean that you love me--Theodora--darling mine." And once again passion blazed in his eyes, and he would have taken her in his arms; but she put up her hands and gently pushed him from her. "Yes," she said, simply, "I love you, but that only makes it all the harder--and we must say good-bye at once, and go our different ways. You who are so strong and know so much--I trust you, dear--you must help me to do what is right." She never thought of reproaching him, of telling him, as she very well could have done, that he had taken cruel advantage of her unsophistication. All her mind was full of the fact that they were both very sad and wicked and must help each other. "I _cannot_ say good-bye," he said, "now that I know you love me, darling; it is impossible. How can we part--what will the days be--how could we get through our lives?" She looked at him, and her eyes were the eyes of a wounded thing--dumb and pitiful, and asking for help. Then the something that was fine and noble in Hector Bracondale rose up in him--the crust of selfishness and cynicism fell from him like a mask. He suddenly saw himself as he was, and she--as she was--and a determination came over him to grow worthy of her love, obey her slightest wish, even if it must break his heart. He dropped upon his knees beside her on the greensward, and buried his face in her lap. "Darling--my queen," he said. "I will do whatever you command--but oh, it need not be good-bye. Don't let me sicken and die out of your presence. I swear, on my word of honor, I will never trouble you. Let me worship you and watch over you and make your life brighter. Oh, God! there can be no sin in that."