love Thornton! And then, as some fiery cordial, the words seemed to whip
through his veins, quickening the beat of his heart into wild,
tumultuous throbbing. Yes, yes, he could understand--it was
true--true--she did not love Thornton.

"Helena!" he cried--and stretched out his arms to her. "I thought, oh,
God, I thought that I had lost you--Helena!"

But she did not move.

"What does it matter to you whether I love Thornton or not?" she said
dully. "Does it change anything where you and I are concerned--does it
change what I told you this afternoon--that I would not go back to
_that_."

"To that! Ah, no!"--his voice rang dominant, vibrant, triumphant now.
"Helena, don't you understand? We are to begin life again--in a new
way, the true way, the only way. Don't you see--I love you!"

Still she did not move--but there was a great whiteness in her face, and
in the whiteness a great light.

"You mean?"--her lips scarcely seemed to form the words.

"Yes!" he cried. "Yes; to make a home for you, to marry you if only you
love me still, to live in God's own sight and hold you as a sacred
gift--Helena! Helena!"--his arms went out to her again, and the yearning
in his soul was in his voice--to crush her to him, to hold her in his
arms, and hold her there where none should take her from him, to shield
and guard her through the years to come, to live with her a life that