She drew back and lifted her head proudly. “I have already the protection of my father’s name and the approval of my conscience. I should feel myself a coward, and a traitor to myself, if I tried to crawl under any other now.” “I understand what you mean--and I beg your pardon. But we both know now, more surely than we knew before, how necessary we are to each other, how deep and true and everlasting our love is. Don’t you realize that neither of us can ever be happy until we have joined our lives together? What are the days and the weeks for us now but just a constant yearning for each other’s presence. Look forward, Rhoda, to months and years of that, think of how much more life will mean for us both, if only you will give up and listen to what your heart tells you.” She had risen and was standing beside her chair, one hand on its back. He came close to her and rested his hand near hers. She was conscious too that his other arm was outstretched behind her, hovering close, ready to sweep her into his embrace. The struggle in her heart, longing to heed the call of his, quick with desire to make amends for the injustice she had done him, tumultuous with rejoicing that his love had been all she had thought it, was almost more than she could bear. He was so near--she had only to lean toward him a little, and his arm would be around her and her head upon his breast. Ah, the blessed peace there would be in that haven of repose! Already she could feel its stilling waters wrapping round her, numbing the power of resistance. He leaned a little nearer and his voice was low and compellingly sweet, “Rhoda! Come to my arms, where you belong! Do not deny our love any longer!” She saw his hand on the back of the chair moving instinctively toward her own,--a sinewy, brown, masterful hand, which held her eyes as it drew nearer, little by little, as if drawn by some irresistible attraction. She knew that his eyes in that same way were fixed upon her own, long, slender, nervous, the sort of hand that works out the behests of a strenuous soul. And she knew, also, as she waited, silent, trying to force herself to voice once more the dictates of her conscience, she knew that, if his hand touched hers before she could bring herself to speak, she could resist no longer. Still she stood, speechless, her fascinated eyes upon his masterful hand, her body thrilling with the surety that if she did not speak now, at once, in another moment she would be in his arms, and the struggle over. “Oh, my poor Nellie Gray, They have taken her away, And I’ll never see my darling any more!”