"So like," said I, "that I greatly admired her, and being unwilling
to lose sight of her I confess that I followed her until--Miss
Margovan, are you sure that you understand?"

She was now pale, but entirely calm. She again raised her eyes to
mine, with a look that did not falter.

"What do you wish me to do?" she asked. "You need not fear to name
your terms. I accept them."

It was plain, even in the brief time given me for reflection, that in
dealing with this girl ordinary methods would not do, and ordinary
exactions were needless.

"Miss Margovan," I said, doubtless with something of the compassion
in my voice that I had in my heart, "it is impossible not to think
you the victim of some horrible compulsion. Rather than impose new
embarrassments upon you I would prefer to aid you to regain your
freedom."

She shook her head, sadly and hopelessly, and I continued, with
agitation:

"Your beauty unnerves me. I am disarmed by your frankness and your
distress. If you are free to act upon conscience you will, I
believe, do what you conceive to be best; if you are not--well,
Heaven help us all! You have nothing to fear from me but such
opposition to this marriage as I can try to justify on--on other
grounds."