'Why did you come out, Evan? It was not right.' 'I came to speak to you. I shall leave early to-morrow, and may not see you alone.' 'You are going----?' She checked her voice, and left the thrill of it wavering in him. 'Yes, Rose, I am going; I should have gone before.' 'Evan!' she grasped his hand, and then timidly retained it. 'You have not forgiven me? I see now. I did not think of any risk to you. I only wanted you to beat. I wanted you to be first and best. If you knew how I thank God for saving you! What my punishment would have been!' Till her eyes were full she kept them on him, too deep in emotion to be conscious of it. He could gaze on her tears coldly. 'I should be happy to take the leap any day for the prize you offered. I have come for that.' 'For what, Evan?' But while she was speaking the colour mounted in her cheeks, and she went on rapidly: 'Did you think it unkind of me not to come to nurse you. I must tell you, to defend myself. It was the Countess, Evan. She is offended with me--very justly, I dare say. She would not let me come. What could I do? I had no claim to come.' Rose was not aware of the import of her speech. Evan, though he felt more in it, and had some secret nerves set tingling and dancing, was not to be moved from his demand. 'Do you intend to withhold it, Rose?' 'Withhold what, Evan? Anything that you wish for is yours.' 'The handkerchief. Is not that mine?' Rose faltered a word. Why did he ask for it? Because he asked for nothing else, and wanted no other thing save that. Why did she hesitate? Because it was so poor a gift, and so unworthy of him. And why did he insist? Because in honour she was bound to surrender it. And why did she hesitate still? Let her answer. 'Oh, Evan! I would give you anything but that; and if you are going away, I should beg so much to keep it.' He must have been in a singular state not to see her heart in the refusal, as was she not to see his in the request. But Love is blindest just when the bandage is being removed from his forehead. 'Then you will not give it me, Rose? Do you think I shall go about boasting "This is Miss Jocelyn's handkerchief, and I, poor as I am, have won it"?' The taunt struck aslant in Rose's breast with a peculiar sting. She stood up. 'I will give it you, Evan.' Turning from him she drew it forth, and handed it to him hurriedly. It was warm. It was stained with his blood. He guessed where it had been nestling, and, now, as if by revelation, he saw that large sole star in the bosom of his darling, and was blinded by it and lost his senses. 'Rose! beloved!' Like the flower of his nightly phantasy bending over the stream, he looked and saw in her sweet face the living wonders that encircled his image; she murmuring: 'No, you must hate me.' 'I love you, Rose, and dare to say it--and it 's unpardonable. Can you forgive me?' She raised her face to him. 'Forgive you for loving me?' she said.