From the valley below them there came the sound of a man’s voice singing a familiar serenade. Only the tune was audible, but the words they knew: ‘Open your casement, love. I come as a robber to steal your heart.’ Sybert, listening, watched her from under drooping lids. He was struggling with a sudden temptation which almost overmastered him. He thought her engaged to another man, but—why not come as a robber and steal her heart? In the past few weeks he had seen lifelong hopes come to nothing; he was wounded and discouraged and in need of human sympathy, and he had fought his battles alone. During that time of struggle Marcia had come to occupy a large part of his consciousness. He had seen in her character undeveloped possibilities—a promise for the future—and the desire had subtly taken hold of him to be the one to watch and direct her growth. The new feeling was the more intense, in that it had taken the place of hopes and interests that were dying. And then that, too, had been snatched away. Since the night of her birthday ball he had not doubted for a moment that she was engaged to Paul Dessart. It had never occurred to him that the scene he had interrupted was merely her sympathetic fashion of dismissing the young man. A dozen little things had come back to him that before had had no significance, and he had accepted the fact without questioning. It seemed of a piece with the rest of his fate that this should be added just when it was hardest for him to bear. It was the final touch of Nemesis that made her work rounded and complete. And now, as he watched her, he was filled with a sudden fierce rebellion, an impulse to fight against the fate that was robbing him, to snatch her away from Paul Dessart. Every instinct of his nature urged him forward; only honour held him back. He turned away and with troubled eyes studied the distance. She had chosen freely—whether wisely or not, the future would prove. He knew that he could not honourably stretch out so much as his little finger to call her back.