Had she only been free, a maid whose hand remained her own to surrender as she pleased, I should never have hesitated, never have doubted her purpose; but now that could not be. I felt that every word and look between us already bordered upon sin, that danger to both alike lurked in each stolen glance and meeting. Better far we should have parted without further speech. I knew this, yet love constrained me, as it has constrained many another, and I lingered at her wish--a foolish moth fluttering to the flame. As I knocked almost timidly at the closed library door a gentle voice said, “Come,” and I entered, my heart throbbing like a frightened girl's. She stood waiting me nearly in the centre of that spacious apartment, dressed in the same light raiment she had worn without, and her greeting was calm and friendly, yet tinged by a proud dignity I cannot describe. I believed for an instant that we were alone, and my blood raced through my veins in sudden expectancy; then my eyes fell upon Mrs. Minor comfortably seated in an armchair before the fire, and I realized that she was present to restrain me from forgetfulness. But in very truth my lady hardly needed such protection--her speech, her manner, her proud constraint told me at once most plainly that no existing tie between us had caused our meeting. “Captain Wayne,” she said softly, her high color alone giving evidence of any memory of the past, “I scarcely thought that we should meet again, yet was not willing to part with you under any misunderstanding. I have learned from Lieutenant Caton the full particulars of your action in connection with Major Brennan. I wish you to realize that I appreciate your efforts to escape a hostile meeting, and esteem you most highly for your forbearance on the field. It was indeed a noble proof of true courage. May I ask, why did you fire in the air?” Had she not held me so away from her by her manner I should have then and there told her all the truth. As it was I durst not. “I felt convinced that if my bullet reached Major Brennan it would injure you. I preferred not to do that.” She bowed gravely, while a kinder look, if I may use that expression, seemed to dominate her face. “I believed it was for my sake you made the sacrifice.” She paused; then asked in yet lower tones: “Was my name mentioned during your contention--I mean publicly?” “It was not; Caton alone is aware I refrained because of the reason I have already given you.” “Your wound is not serious?” “Too insignificant to be worthy of mention.” She was silent, her eyes upon the carpet, her bosom rising and falling with the emotion she sought in vain to suppress.