"When I found myself caught in that wreck," she began in slow, mellow tones, "it flashed over me that I had been leading a sham life. I, who profess freedom, had been living a slave to form. One desire, the most intense, the most passionate, the most wilful I had ever known was ungratified. Do you know the one thing I asked when the past and present and future flashed before me in a moment?" She paused, caught her breath, and gave him a look of passionate intensity. "I only asked for one hour face to face with a great masterful man I know, that I might say the unsaid things, dare, and live the utmost reach of my heart's desire." Her voice wavered and hesitated. Then, with calm, laughing audacity, she said in sweet, sensuous tones: "I love you, and you love me--loved me from the first moment you looked into my eyes! Is it not so?" Overman rose awkwardly, pale as death, his great breast heaving with emotion, and looked again helplessly toward the door. Kate leaped forward with a laugh, seized his hand, and felt it tremble in her grasp. "Is it not so?" she repeated, beneath her breath. He looked down into her shining eyes, sighed, and suddenly swept her to his heart. Her arms circled his massive neck and their lips met. "Kiss me again," she whispered. "Again! Crush me--kill me if you like! I could die in your arms! Tell me that you love me!" "I've loved you always," he said slowly. "But why did you do this thing? Frank is my best friend. I would have died sooner than betray him." "Yes, I know," she cried, impetuously; "that's why I told you. I have no scruples. I am free. It is our compact. I'm done with his maudlin sentiment. I have chosen you. You are my master, my king. I am yours." "Tragedy to me as it is," he said, with a smile, "it seems too sweet and wonderful to be true, that the most beautiful woman on this earth should love a gnarled brute like me. How is it possible?" She smoothed his rugged face with her soft hand, drew his head down and kissed tenderly the sightless eye that had caused him so many bitter hours of anguish in life. The strong man's body for the first time shook with sobs. And the woman soothed him as a child. "You are my soul's mate," she cried, in a transport of tenderness. "Frank Gordon is no longer my husband. You are my beloved, my chosen one. I will never recognise him again. We will separate from this hour. I am yours and you are mine." Overman took her hand and, still trembling, said: "Do you know what that means?" "Yes," she answered, eagerly. "I know you will be my lord and master, and I desire it. I am sick of sentimentalism." "It means exactly that," he said, with emphasis. "Out of this bog of fool's dreams I will lift you forever, my own, the one priceless treasure around which I will draw the circle of life and death."