Up to this Guy had had some chance of escaping, but now as he narrowed himself into the limits of the shadow cast by the huge pillar, he saw two figures advance and lean against the opposite casements of the open doors. At the same moment the moon sailed out from behind a pile of snowy clouds, and Guy Elersley saw with his greedy eyes--in all her loveliness, in all her dignity, in all her feminine grace--Honor Edgeworth, his heart's long-cherished idol, but she was not alone. Beside her was the tall, stalwart figure of a man in evening dress, whose head was inclined towards her, whose eyes were seeking hers with a tender expression of sentiment in their depths. In a moment Guy had caught the outlines of that face, and instinctively he clutched his hand and bit his lip, for he had recognized Vivian Standish flirting with the girl _he_ loved. Her hand was now in his, and he was drawing her closer to him. The impulse filled Guy to dart forward and level those guilty arms that dared to encircle the sacred form of one so good and pure as she, in their sinful embrace, but he quelled it, determining, at any cost, to hear the issue of this strange _rencontre_--it would be the verdict upon which hung the life or death of his dearest hopes. "Honor," he heard Vivian say, "you will surely take cold here in this open window." "Nonsense," Honor said indignantly, "a fine night like this? I am not so susceptible as you think, nor as fragile a piece as I look." Still toying distractedly with her little jeweled hand, Vivian continued: "You may not be susceptible to cold, but you should be to warmth, such as my heart offers you, the heat of love's immortal flame--Honor--can you give me no hope that will make the future worth living for?" "Surely," she answered seriously, "you have not lived such a worthless life, all these years, as leaves the future a perfect blank for you." Guy fancied how Standish must have winced uncomfortably at her words, he wondered at the provokingly composed way, in which he answered her. "It is not that exactly," he said, "though I am not at all surprised that you should think it of me, but, somehow, all the ambitions that have hitherto stimulated me, seem now to have dwindled into a secondary importance, of course, it is nothing to you, that my life has become one long miserable suspense, since destiny has thrown us together, because our little happinesses are no sacrifice in your great eyes, you cannot feel the smallest sympathy for a victim such as I, if it were a little terrier, you had unconsciously wounded, you would take it caressingly in your arms, and make a gentle atonement for your fault, but there is a difference between little terrier pups and human hearts, like mine--"