“Yes, and dispirited. You will excuse me, I know.” “Frances rose to her feet, but seemed so faint that she leaned against the table for support. He was by her side at once. “My sweet lass, I am so sorry for you. Tell me what I can do for you, and on my soul, my life is yours if you require it.” “No, no! God grant you take no hurt for my sake.” He slipped his arm about her waist and would have drawn her toward him, but with more strength than he had expected her to possess she held away. His great love for her almost overcame him, and all the prudence he had gathered was scattered suddenly to the winds. “Dear, dear lass, one touch of our lips and see if all doubts do not dissolve before the contact.” Now she wrenched herself free, and would have escaped but that he sprang forward and caught her by the wrists, a grip she was to remember later in the night. In spite of this prisoning, her hands were raised to the sides of her face, and a look of such terror shot from her eyes that he feared some madness had come upon her. “Not that! Not that!” she shrieked. “The kiss of Judas! It would kill me!” His arms dropped paralyzed to his sides, and he stepped back a pace, amazed at the expression she had used and the terror of her utterance. Next instant he was alone, and the closed door between them. Still he stood where she had left him. “The kiss of Judas!” he muttered. “The kiss of Judas! She loves him, thinks me his friend, trying to take Judas advantage of him because we are alone together. De Courcy spoke truth. Wae is me, she loves him, and I, blind fool----Oh God! pity that poor girl, and this insanity of passion wasted on so rank a cur!”