coming back and opening the house again--and--and--all that--and--" here
he paused a second time, it seemed as if his throat were dry, for
suddenly the remembrance of his dreams as he looked at Tristram
Guiscard's armor, which he had worn at Agincourt, came back to him--his
dreams in his old oak-paneled room--of their home-coming to Wrayth; and
the mockery of the reality hit him in the face.

Zara clasped her hands, and if he had glanced at her again, he would
have seen all the love and anguish which was convulsing her shining in
her sad eyes.

He mastered the emotion which had hoarsened his voice, and went on in an
even tone: "What I have to ask is that you will do your share--wear some
beautiful clothes, and smile, and look as if you cared; and if I feel
that it will be necessary to take your hand or even kiss you, do not
frown at me, or think I am doing it from choice--I ask you, because I
believe you are as proud as I am,--I ask you, please, to play the game."

And now he looked up at her, but the terrible emotion she was suffering
had made her droop her head. He would not kiss her or take her
hand--from choice--that was the main thing her woman's heart had
grasped, the main thing, which cut her like a knife.

"You can count upon me," she said, so low he could hardly hear her; and
then she raised her head proudly, and looked straight in front of her,
but not at him, while she repeated more firmly: "I will do in every way
what you wish--what your mother would have done. I am no weakling, you
know, and as you said, I am as proud as yourself."

He dared not look at her, now the bargain was made, so he took a step