Precious, the petted daughter of wealth and luxury all her life, recovered her consciousness in the smallest, shabbiest, most common-looking bedroom she had ever beheld. A coarse woman of about fifty years was leaning over her. She looked and smelled like a laundress. "Who are you, and where am I?" quavered Precious. A man came forward then, and at sight of him everything came back to her memory. She lifted her head from the coarse pillow with a shriek. "Mamma! oh, darling mamma!" "Be quiet. Your mother is all right, my dear," said Warwick. "The story of her death was only a ruse to make you faint, so that I could get you into my power. I love you, so I brought you away to make you my prisoner until you would consent to be my bride." Precious sprang to her feet, her blue eyes blazing with anger and scorn. "You must be crazy! Why, my papa will kill you for this!" she panted indignantly. Lindsey Warwick laughed mockingly. "Oh, no, my dear; he will not get the chance. He will never know where you are until you marry me!" She stamped her little foot with the pride of a queen. "Senator Winans' daughter marry you--a drawing-master!" she cried, with increased indignation. "Certainly, my dear. Pride can stoop sometimes. Your mother was only a governess when she became the senator's bride!" She looked at him in amazement at his knowledge of their family history, and answered proudly: "My mother belonged to one of the proudest families in the South. It was only the reverse of fortune that placed her for a short time in a dependent position." With a laugh he answered: "Granted, but she was only a governess, and the senator's daughter may stoop like her father to wed her tutor." "I hate you! I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth! Release me at once, and let me go home!" she cried imperiously. "I will not. I love you to madness, and I have sworn that I will make you my bride. I will keep you imprisoned here until you consent." "I will kill myself first." "I am not afraid of that." She looked at the coarse, frowzy-haired woman whose greasy clothes smelled of soapsuds. "Are you in this plot?" she asked disdainfully. "He is my son, and has put you in my charge, and I have promised to keep you safe; that is all," was the careless answer. "But my father will search everywhere for me, and he will punish you both when he finds me." "He will not find you, for there will not be the slightest clew for him to follow. This house is an old ruin, and my mother lives here alone. I board in one of the best neighborhoods in Washington, and I will never come here to see you only late at night." He made a motion to the old woman, and she immediately retired from the room. Then the dark, sneering face of the young man softened with love and longing. He knelt at her feet, and cried passionately: