"I do not know, neither do I care!" I cried passionately. "All I know, Sylvia, is that my heart is yours--that I have loved only once in my life, and it is now!" Her slim fingers played nervously with the ribbon upon her cool summer gown, but she made no response. "I know I have not much to recommend me," I went on. "Perhaps I am too hulking, too English. You who have lived so much abroad are more used, no doubt, to the elegant manners and the prettily turned compliments of the foreigner than the straight speech of a fellow like myself. Yet I swear that my only thought has been of you, that I love you with all my heart--with all my soul." I caught her hand and again looked into her eyes, trying to read what response lay hidden in their depths. I felt her tremble. For a moment she seemed unable to reply. The silence was unbroken save for the drowsy hum of the insects in the summer heat outside, while the sweet perfume of the flowers filled our nostrils. In the tension of those moments each second seemed an hour. You who have experienced the white heat of the love-flame can only know my eager, breathless apprehension, the honest whole-heartedness of my declaration. Perhaps, in your case, the flames are all burnt out, but even now you can tell of the white core and centre of fire within you. Years may have gone, but it still remains--the sweet memory of your well-beloved. "Tell me, Sylvia," I whispered once more. "Tell me, will you not break down this strange invisible barrier which you have set up between us? Forget the past, as I have already forgotten it--and be mine--my own!" She burst into tears. "Ah!" she cried. "If I only could--if I only dared!" "Will you not dare to do it--for my sake?" I asked very quietly. "Will you not promise to be mine? Let me stand your friend--your champion. Let me defend you against your enemies. Let me place myself beside you and defy them." "Ah, no!" she gasped, "not to defy them. Defiance would only bring death--death to both of us!" "Your love, Sylvia, would mean life and happiness, not death--to me--to both of us!" I cried. "Will you not give me your promise? Let our love be in secret, if you so desire--only let us love each other. Promise me!" I cried, my arm stealing around her narrow waist. "Promise me that you will try and love me, and I, too, will promise to be worthy of your affection." For a moment she remained silent, her handsome head downcast. Then slowly, with a sweet love-look upon her beautiful countenance, she raised her face to mine, and then for the first time our lips met in a fierce and passionate caress. Thus was our solemn compact sealed. CHAPTER FOURTEEN OF THINGS UNMENTIONABLE I remained in that cosy, book-lined den for perhaps an hour--one whole hour of sweet, delightful ecstasy.