She, puzzled no doubt by these successive repetitions of her name, lifted her eyes inquiringly to his. For an instant their eyes staid together. That was a memorable instant for Elias Bach-arach. A great wave of emotion took away his breath, made his body quiver, his head swim, as if with vertigo. He tried to speak. His tongue lay paralyzed in his mouth. Suddenly she looked down; and a scarlet blush suffused her throat and cheeks. He leapt forward, fell upon his knees before her, caught her hand, and whispered--a tense, eager whisper, that clove the air like a flame--“_Christine--my darling!_” She drew her hand away. She trembled from head to foot. “Don't be afraid, my darling. Don't tremble,” he whispered. But she did not cease to tremble. She neither raised her eyes, nor spoke. Her blush had died away, leaving her face very pale. Even her lips had lost their color. “Christine,” he whispered, “I could not help it. I love you. I could not keep it secret, Christine.” Shrinking from him, deeper into her chair, “Don't--please don't,” she pleaded, in a weak, frightened voice. Still in a whisper: “I could not help it. I--I had to tell you. Oh, why do you shrink away from me, like that, and tremble? Is my love hateful to you?” “Oh, no, no, not that,” impulsively; but then she blushed again, as if ashamed. “Oh, my God! God bless you!” he cried, with a great sigh of relief. “I was afraid it might be.” He leaned toward her, breathing swiftly; and his eyes consumed her face. By and by, very gently, he spoke her name, “Christine!” Her lips parted--“Yes?” “Christine--I love you--with all my heart and soul.” No response. “Christine--do you believe me?” A long breath; then a scarce audible “Yes.” “Do you think,”--he paused to gain courage. “Do you think it will ever be possible for you to care for me?” No answer. “Christine--won't you answer me?” She raised her eyes; and for an infinitesimal fraction of a second they rested upon his. But then they hastened to seek refuge behind dropped lids, as if afraid of what they had seen and of what they had revealed. Again her cheeks blushed scarlet. Elias started. Suddenly, he threw his arms around her, and drew her to him hard and close. Her face lay against his shoulder. There was no sound in the room, save the sound of their breathing. At last she broke away. “Christine--do you think--perhaps--you do--care for me--a little?” “I don't know,” in a timid whisper. “Not--not the least bit in the world?” “I d-don't know,” in a smaller and more timid whisper still. “I--I never thought of it till--till you spoke.” “Oh, but now that I _have_ spoken--now that you _have_ thought of it--say--say that you don't hate me.” “Oh, no; I don't hate you at all.” He took her hand and kissed it. It was burning hot. She drew it gently away. “Don't--please,” she said, very low. Again no sound. Again at length, “Christine!” “Yes?” “Do you mind my calling you by your first name--Christine?”