Her head bent over her work; her thoughts were swift and many, and in the quiet moment that Harcourt waited for an answer to his commonplace question, she fought and iron a battle which, if never known on earth, would never be forgotten in heaven. She mastered self and selfishness, in the very citadel of their strength. Fierce though brief was the struggle that took place beneath that gentle, calm exterior, for the human heart is ever the same,--wilful, passionate. With many it is often like the wild storm that will spend itself to the end, no matter how much of wreck and ruin is wrought. With such as Miss Martell, it is like the storm which, at its height, heard the words of the Divine Master, "Peace, be still." "Let him marry Addie Marchmont if he will," she concluded. "I will be kind and gentle to him all the same, and, cost me what it may, I will still see him, and seek to make him a true, good man." So with woman's tact she turned his question, which savored only of sentimental gallantry, to good account, and said quietly, "You know the only 'style of compliment' that I like, and you enriched me with it at Mrs. Byram's company,--the promise you made me." Harcourt sighed involuntarily. She seemed too angelic,--too far above and beyond him. As with a ministering spirit from heaven, her only thought was to win him from evil. Her face was pale from the hidden conflict which had cost her more dearly than he would ever know. Her eyes beamed upon him with a gentle, yet sweet, strange, spiritual light. She scarcely appeared flesh and blood. But he was very human, and his heart craved from her human love and earthly solace. Though now, as at other times, this seemed as presumptuous to him as if some devotee had sacrilegiously fallen in love with his fair patron saint, still he felt a sudden and strong irritation that they should be so far apart. She misunderstood his sigh, and added, "Am I a hard task-mistress?" He shook his head, but there was dejection in his tone as he replied, "There have been many forms of idolatry in the world, but I have thought that those who worshipped the stars must have become a little discouraged at times,--they are so far off." Her face had the pained expression of one misunderstood, but who cannot well explain. She said only, "Idolatry is ever profitless." She meant to hint, he thought, that his worship of her certainly would be. He was chilled at heart. His quick, impetuous spirit prompted him towards recklessness. She saw that he was about to leave abruptly. As she played to win him, not for herself, but heaven, she saw that she had made a mistaken move, though she could not understand his manner. In her maidenly pride and delicacy, she would have let him go if she had thought only of herself; but, conscious of her other motive, she could seek to detain him, and asked, "What did you mean, Mr. Harcourt, by your fanciful allusion to star-worship?"