"Go then, for pity's sake, return to unhappy Ethel, and save her heart from breaking!" she sobbed miserably. "And sacrifice my own!" he muttered, in the hoarse tones of despair. She saw him stoop down a moment. A sob shook her frame as he gathered the violets that had fallen from her throat, and placed them in his breast. Then he looked at her, saying: "You can do this horrible thing--send me from you with this tortured heart to another? Then, indeed, you must be a child as she says. You cannot know the strength and the madness of love!" "Go back to Ethel! It is my one prayer to you, Lord Chester," she faltered imploringly. "Then I will go. May God forgive you, Precious," and he hurried away. CHAPTER XXIV. A PROUD GIRL'S HUMILITY. "The roses that his hands have plucked Are sweet to me, are death to me; Between them, as through living flowers, I pass, I clutch, I crush them, see! The bloom for her, the thorn for me!" --CRANDALL. Ethel had seen them go. At last, unable to restrain her impatience, she followed them halfway to the river. She met Lord Chester returning alone. Ethel stood still, looking at Arthur with her whole soul in her dark, passionate eyes. He struggled with his feelings for a moment, then the pain and imploring in her face won his pity. He took her hand, whispering gently: "Dear Ethel!" "Oh, Arthur, you forgive me!" she panted, and leaned her regal head against his shoulder. The humility of the proud girl won for her more than all her pride could have done--his pitying regard. He put his arm tenderly about her, and held her close for a moment, and he could never tell why she lifted her head so suddenly and drew back in silent pain. As she leaned against him the odor of crushed violets came to her with sickening sweetness--violets, her sister's favorite flowers. She had seen Precious wearing them awhile ago, and she guessed that now they were hidden on Lord Chester's breast. She would hate them now all her life, those purple-blue globes of elusive sweetness. But she dared not give voice to her jealous pain. She could only smile up in his face and murmur: "You forgive me, dear? You will love me again?" "Everything shall be as it was before," he answered, and kissed her lips--not such kisses as he had given Precious just now, but a light caress, one that she knew was a duty kiss. A bitter sigh burst from her lips, and she felt for a moment as if she would like to fall down dead at his feet in her shame and humiliation over the poor victory she had won. But he was speaking again, gravely, quietly: "Let me take you to the house, Ethel, for I must leave you very soon. I must go back to Washington to-night." "But why so soon?" she pouted, and he answered: