The eyes that meet his own have great glittering tears in them. Never in her life has Zai looked more lovely or more lovable than at this moment, and Carl recognises fully all that he is sacrificing for money. “Forgive me for having repeated anything then that wearies you,” he says softly, clasping her cold white hand in his own, and Zai lets him. Even now--even now! in spite of his falsity--his avariciousness--the touch of his hand thrills her through and through, and her white lissom fingers linger in his grasp. “Zai, my darling! you _must_ feel that it is as hard--much more hard indeed--for me to utter than for you to hear. Good Heavens! do you imagine I am thinking of myself? (For a moment, perhaps, he really fancies he is not.) It is of you, my dearest, that I think. How can I be so cruel--so selfish as to ask you to give up for me everything that you have been taught all your life to consider worth possessing? But if you really wish to do so, Zai, I can only say that you will make me very happy. And, darling, you know I shall strive very earnestly to keep you from regretting it!” Brave words these are and bravely spoken, with not a single falter in the tone--not a sign of what they cost, but a swift pallor sweeping across his face. Let us do this worldling credit--let us confess that it is very well done for a man to whom nothing could be more ruinous than to be taken at his word. But frankly, Carlton Conway has not reckoned without his host. It is a curious rather than an absurd sense of honour that forces him to risk this declaration; but he knows the girl beside him too well not to be _almost_ certain of her reply. The event justifies the expectation. Zai loves him to distraction, and the loss of him will create a void in her life which she believes no one on this earth will fill up--not if she lives to be as old as Mount Horeb. Carl’s handsome captivating face tempts her--the most genuine love that a woman can feel tempts her to keep him at any cost. But it is only for a moment she wavers. She knows that Mammon and Cupid have run a race in Carl’s heart and that the former has beat by several lengths. Young, ignorant of guile, and innocent, a sort of instinct teaches her this.