to fear amongst living women; the one rival to be dreaded was
altogether out of the sphere of her conceptions,--the ideal love
of a poet's heart and brain. But the ideal is often least present to
us when most needed. Here was love; offer but love to a poet, and
does he pause to gauge its quality? The sudden whirl of conflicting
emotions left Julian at the mercy of the instant's impulse. She was
weak; she was suffering through him; she loved him.

"Be my wife, then," he whispered, returning her embrace, "and let me
guard you from all who would do you harm."

She uttered a cry of delight, and the cry was a true one.





CHAPTER XIV

NEAR AND FAR




Osmond Waymark was light-hearted; and with him such a state meant
something not at all to be understood by those with whom lightness
of heart is a chronic affection. The man who dwells for long periods
face to face with the bitter truths of life learns so to distrust a
fleeting moment of joy, gives habitually so cold a reception to the
tardy messenger of delight, that, when the bright guest outdares his