"I only said I loved her," returned Osmond simply. "I thought it would be well for you to know that. It seemed fairer." MacLeod smiled again, as if he were smiling down on something. Osmond opened the door, knowing where he should find her. She was there at the end of the hall, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs, her hands in her lap, her head bent sweetly as she listened. She was pale, and there was terror in her face. As Osmond read that, his own passion quieted, and he spoke with perfect gentleness:-- "Rose, will you come here?" She obeyed at once, and they three were in the room together and Osmond had closed the door. He put out his hand to her, and without hesitation she gave him hers. "Rose," he said, "I have been telling your father you will not go back with him." Her eyes dilated. Her lips parted eagerly. "I have said I would," she began; but he forestalled her. "I have forbidden it, Rose. I have told him I forbid it." His touch on her hand seemed to be leading her, drawing her into his own breast. They looked at each other, and both forgot the other presence in the room. The color came back slowly to her cheeks, and Osmond's eyes filled with tears. "Answer, dear," he said, with the same gentleness. "Let me hear you answer." "Very well," she returned, like a gentle child. "Shall I go now, Osmond?" He led her to the door, opened it, and closed it after her. Then he glanced at his adversary. MacLeod had sunk into a chair and was sitting astride it, his chin bowed upon its back. He looked terror-stricken. One hand held a little box, and he was tendering it to Osmond. "Open it," he gasped. "Crush one in your handkerchief. Let me smell it." Osmond ignorantly but deftly did it, and held the handkerchief to MacLeod's face. MacLeod breathed at it greedily. He lifted his left hand as if it were half useless to him. "Rub it," he said savagely. "Wring it off. Such pain! my God, such pain!" In a moment more the attack was over, and he looked like an old man, inexplicably ravaged. Osmond's question sprang impetuously. "Is it--excitement?" MacLeod smiled a little and moistened his lips. "You think you did it?" he suggested. "No. You didn't do it. It comes--of itself--like a thief in the night, like the very devil. Nobody's to know it. Understand that." "Then you need her with you!" Osmond broke out, in a fresh understanding. "Need her? need Rose? Get that out of your mind. The world is full of women. She'll go back with me, but not because I need her."