gesture of such inexpressible humility that even
a stone would have relented.

"Do not be foolish, Mr. Birch," she said, try-
ing to pull her dress away from him. "Get up,
and if you have anything rational to say to me,
I will stay and listen."

"Yes, yes," he whispered, hoarsely, "I shall
be rational. Only do not leave me."

She again sank down wearily upon the
lounge, and looked at him in expectant silence.

"Miss Edith," pleaded he in the same hoarse,
passionate undertone, "have pity on me, and
do not despise me. I love you--oh--if you
would but allow me to die for you, I should be
the happiest of men."

Again he shuddered, and stood long gazing
at her with a mute, pitiful appeal. A tear stole
into Edith's eye and trickled down over her
cheek.

"Ah, Mr. Birch," she murmured, while a
sigh shook her bosom, "I am sorry--very sorry
that this misfortune has happened to you. You
have deserved a better fate than to love me--to
love a woman who can never give you anything