"It wasn't until she came back, though, that I knew I belonged to her who could never belong to me. If I was dead at one end of the world and she dead at the other, we couldn't be any farther apart than life has put us two who can see and speak to each other every day!" "And yet--" he looked at me now and laughed boyishly, "and yet it isn't for Mayne, that she loves, it isn't for you, nor Eustis, nor any man but me alone to help her, by being just what I am and what I have been! Risks? Fail her? _I?_ I couldn't fail her. I'll get those letters for her to-night, if Hunter has hidden them in the beam of his eye!" He turned to me with a sudden white glare of ferocity that appalled me. "I could kill him with my hands," said he, with a quiet cold deadliness to chill one's marrow, "and Inglesby after him, for what they've made her endure! When I think of to-night--that brute daring to touch _her_ with his swine's mouth--I--I--" His face was convulsed; but after a moment's fierce struggle the disciplined spirit conquered. "No, there's been enough trouble for her without that, so they're safe from me, the both of them. I wouldn't do anything to imperil her happiness to save my own life. She was born to be happy--and she's going to have her chance. _I'll_ see to that, Mary Virginia!" The man seemed to grow, to expand, to tower giant-like before me. Next to the white heat of this lava-flow of pure feeling, all other loves lavished upon Mary Virginia during her fortunate life seemed dwarfed and petty. Beside it Inglesby's furious desire shrunk into a loathsome thing, small and crawling; and my own affection was only an old priest's; and even the strong and faithful love of Laurence appeared pale and boyish in the light of this majestic passion which gave all and in return asked only the right to serve and to save. "_Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm; for love is strong as death_ ... "_Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned_." Trying desperately to cling to such rags and tatters of common sense as I could lay hold upon: "There is your duty to yourself," I managed to say. "Yes, yes, one owes a great duty to oneself and one's work, John. You are risking too much--name, friends, honor, work, freedom. For God's sake, John, do not underestimate the danger. You have not had time to consider it." "Ho! Listen to the parson preaching self-interest!" he mocked. "He's a fine one to do that--at this hour of his life!" "I tell you you endanger everything," I insisted. I might bring that package, but at least he shouldn't rush upon the knife unwarned.