"Thanks!" she said, scornfully--"that is your explanation. Having afforded it, be kind enough to open that door and let me depart." "Stay!" he said, and for the first time his voice broke and showed signs of the storm that was raging within him. "Stay, Stella--I implore, I beseech of you! Think, consider for one moment to what doom your feet are carrying you! The man proposes--has the audacity to propose--a clandestine elopement, a secret marriage; he treats you as if you were not worthy to be his wife, as if you were the dirt under his feet! Do you think, dare you, blinded as you are by a momentary passion, dare you hope that any good can spring from such an union, that any happiness can follow such a shameful marriage? Dare you hope that this man's love--love!--which will not brave the temporary anger and contempt of his relations, can be strong enough to last a lifetime? Think, Stella! He is ashamed of you already; he, the heir to Wyndward, is ashamed to make you his bride before the world. He must lower and degrade you by a secret ceremony. What is his love compared with mine--with mine?" and in the fierce emotion of the moment he put his hand upon her arm and held her. With a fierce, angry scorn, which no one who knew Stella Etheridge could have thought her capable of, she flung his hand from her and confronted him, her beautiful face looking lovely in its scorn and wrath. "Silence!" she exclaimed, her breast heaving, her eyes darting lightning. "You--you coward! You dare to speak thus to me, a weak, defenseless girl, whom you have entrapped into listening to you! I dare you to utter them to him--him, the man you traduce and slander. You speak of love; you know not what it is! You speak of shame----" she paused, the word seemed to overcome her. "Shame," she repeated, struggling for breath and composure; "you do not know what that is. Shall I tell you? I have never felt it until now; I feel it now, because I have been weak enough to remain and listen to you! It is shameful that your hand should have touched me! It is shameful that I should have listened to your protestations of love--love! You speak of the shame which he would bring upon me! Well, then--listen for once and all!--if such shame were to befall me from his hand, I would go to meet it, yes, and welcome it, rather than take from yours all the honor which you could extend to me! You say that I am going to ruin and unhappiness! So be it; I accept your words--to silence you, learn from my own lips that I would rather bear such shame and misery with him, than happiness and honor with you. Have I--have I," she panted, "spoken plainly enough?" and she looked down at him with passionate scorn. He was white, white as death, his hands hung at his side clinched and burning; his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth, and render speech impossible.