Lastly, the face of Neil Harley seemed to rise before her, not pitying or pleading like the rest, but with a quiet smile of triumph that made her think upon his words, and what is more, set her longing for him to be by her side to help and protect her. She passed her hands across her eyes angrily, and seemed to disclaim the wish, but directly after came the recollection of her state, and she uttered a weary cry of misery. She had despised him before--he would despise her now; and if he could see her as she had seen herself in that mirror, he would turn from her in disgust. She pondered again, as she grew calmer, upon his words to her, uttered as they had been in his quiet, bantering way--that he would wait his time till she was weary of trifling with others, when she would turn to him and gladly become his wife. Never until now had Helen felt how true these words might prove, for as she rested her burning forehead against the bamboo trellis of her window, asking the outer air to cool her fevered face--that face that he would never look upon again with the eyes of love--his calm, grave manner of dealing with others seemed so representative of power and readiness to help, that her heart went out to him as to her natural protector, and in a low, passionate voice, she murmured: "Neil--Neil--come to me before it is too late!" Then came once more as it were a wave of despair to sweep over her and overwhelm her in misery and despair. "It is too late--too late," she moaned. "I might have been happy and at peace, but it is too late--too late." As she stood there wringing her hands, she found herself thinking more and more of Neil Harley, and she saw now what she had been too indifferent to appreciate before; that beneath his calm, half-mocking mien there was a depth of affection that she now began to realise to its fullest extent. And yet he had borne with her follies patiently, merely laughing at acts that she knew now must have given him great pain, doubtless feeling that some day she would sorrow for what she had done, and seek by her affection to recompense him for all that had gone before. Her heart told her, now that she did turn to him--that she was feeling the strength of his love in the echo it met with in her own heart. She had not known that it was there--this love for him--but it surely was; and now her punishment was to be a terrible one--that of one torn by regret for the love that might have been hers, but which she had cast away. For it was too late now--too late, and those words seemed to be ever repeating themselves in her ears.