Hera laid a restraining hand on Mario’s arm, saying, “Bear it, we have given him cause,” and in that instant the enormity of the situation their love had produced came fully to their minds. It was a realisation that made Hera recoil in dread of the consequences; but Mario, convinced of the larger justice in the course they had taken, advanced a step toward Tarsis and said--all regret, all suggestion of considerateness gone from his manner: “When you say that I plotted to rob you of her you speak falsely. There was no plot, no premeditated act. Donna Hera is wholly without blame. My love for her began in the moment of our first meeting. It bore me on irresistibly, despite the hopelessness of it ever present to my thought. Had she loved you I should never have spoken. I knew she did not love you; I knew she was going to a life of thraldom, to be a hostage to the fortune of others. Understand, I do not tell you this in a spirit of excuse, but only for the purpose of acquainting you with the facts. I do not try to make excuse to you; I do not seek self-justification.” Tarsis laughed at him scornfully. “Oh, _bravissimo_!” he sneered. “You do not see any wrong in making love to the woman who is to be my wife!” “She is not to be your wife,” Mario said. “You must know that Donna Hera cannot be your wife now.” Tarsis was at the point of another outburst of wrath, but checked himself as if with a purpose suddenly conceived. He riveted his gaze first upon Hera, then upon the other, and stood silent, with knitted brows, the subtlest forces of his nature waked by Mario’s last words. These words warned him that from his grasp was slipping the prize he valued above any on which he had ever set his powerful will. He moved off from them and paced slowly to and fro, with bowed head. The sound of his footfalls was all that broke the stillness of the chapel. Once or twice he looked up, toward Mario and Hera, and they saw the despair written in his strong face. They were stirred to a feeling of pity, of guilt, as they contemplated what seemed to them their work. A little while, and he paused, drew near to Hera, and said to her, his voice that of a man crushed in spirit: “Is it true? Has he prevailed upon you to break off our marriage?” Pale and resolute, she answered: “No; he has not prevailed upon me. It is my choice--the only way.” Tarsis made a show of submission by twice inclining his head. “I suppose you are right,” he said, as if resigned. “Of your purpose in engaging yourself to me I was aware, but I hoped in time to win your affection. It is the hand of fate.” Hera’s eyes were moistening. “I am to blame,” she said, contritely. “It was wrong of me to consent to a marriage with you; but I was driven, oh, I was driven. Forgive me, I beg of you.”