She rose with her tears replaced by a passionate gravity. “Ah, you don’t know what you say!” she cried. “Talk of my future if you like, but not of my past! No one can speak of it, no one knows it! Such as you see me here, bedecked and bedizened, I am a penniless, homeless, friendless creature! But for Roger, I might be in the streets! Do you think I have forgotten it, that I ever can forget it? There are things that color one’s life, memories that last forever. I have my share! What am I to settle, between whom am I to choose? My love for Roger is no choice, it is part and parcel of my being!” Hubert was inspired; he forgot everything but that she was lovely. “I wish to Heaven,” he cried, “that you had never ceased to be penniless and friendless! I wish Roger had left you alone and not smothered you beneath this terrible burden of gratitude! Give him back his gifts! Take all _I_ have! In the streets? In the streets I should have found you, as lovely in your poverty as you are now in your finery, and a thousand times more free!” He seized her hand and met her eyes with irresistible ardor. Pain and pleasure, at once, possessed Nora’s heart. It was as if joy, bursting in, had trampled certain tender flowers that bloomed on the threshold. But Hubert had cried, “I love you! I love you!” and joy had taken up the words. She was unable to speak audibly; but in an instant she was spared the effort. The servant hastily came in with a note superscribed with her name. She motioned to Hubert to open it. He read it aloud. “Mr. Lawrence is sinking. You had better come. I send my carriage.” Nora’s voice came to her with a cry,—“He is dying, he is dying!”