Jack thought a moment, his fingers straying over the keys, then softening his full baritone voice as much as possible, he sang--"Yes, dear, I love but thee!" It was an old English song, one of the sweetest of the old melodies which even now have power to rouse a _blase_ audience to enthusiasm. Una stood behind him entranced, bewitched; he sang every word to _her_. "Yes, dear, I love but thee!" Oh, Heaven, it was too great a joy! Unconsciously she drew nearer and put her hand upon his shoulder, timidly, caressingly, and as the music ceased, Jack turned and caught it prisoner in his. "Yes, dear, I love but thee!" he murmured. "And I"--she breathed, her eyes melting with passionate tenderness--"and I love but thee." "My darling," he whispered, "do you know what you are giving me--your precious self--and to whom you are giving it?" The voice fell; conscience was awake again. "Una," he went on, hurriedly, passionately. "I am not worthy of your love----" "I love but thee!" she breathed, softly. "You do not know, you who are so ignorant of the world, what it means to wed a man like myself, penniless, worthless--oh, Heaven, forgive me!" "I love but thee!" she breathed, for all her answer. Jack bent his head over her hand. "What can I do?" he murmured, bitterly. "I cannot give her up." Then he looked up. "Have you no fear, Una? Do you trust me so entirely? Think, can you face poverty and all its trials. Dear, I am very poor, worse than poor." She smiled an ineffable smile. "And I am rich--while I have your love." Then suddenly her voice changed, and with a look of terror she bent over him, almost clingingly. "What is it you are saying? Jack! Jack! you will not leave me?" Jack started to his feet, and regardless of waking Mrs. Davenant, took her in his arms. "Never, by Heaven!" he exclaimed. There was one moment of ecstatic joy, then suddenly Una drew back; and with a gesture of alarm, pointed to the looking-glass. Jack raised his head, and with a sudden cry drew her nearer to him as if to protect her. Reflected in the glass was the thin figure of Stephen Davenant, looking rather like a ghost than a man--silent, motionless, with pallid face, and set, rigid eyes. CHAPTER XXVII. White and haggard, Stephen stood in shadow-way, his eyes fixed on Jack and Una with an expression of mingled astonishment and rage beyond all description. Jack was too astonished by what seemed as much an apparition as a reality, to withdraw his arm from round Una's waist, and it was she who first recovered self-possession enough to cross over to Mrs. Davenant and wake her. Her movement seemed to recall Stephen to a sense of the situation, and in a moment he rose and coped with it.