For a tense instant they faced each other. Her breast rose and fell with
every quick breath; her eyes met his, then faltered, and the crimson of
shame mantled her white face.

"Oh," she breathed, painfully, and turned away from him. When she was
half way to the door, he called to her. "Rose! Dear Rose!"

She hesitated, her hand upon the knob. "Close the door and come back,"
he pleaded. "Please--oh, please!"

Trembling from head to foot, she obeyed him, but her face was pitiful.
She could not force herself to look at him. "Forgive," she murmured,
"and forget."

The hand he took in his was cold, but her nearness gave him comfort, as
never before. His heart was unspeakably tender toward her.

"Rose," he went on, softly, "I've been too near the other world not to
have the truth now. Tell me what you mean! Make me understand!"

She did not answer, nor even lift her eyes. She breathed hard, as though
she were in pain.

"Rose," he said again, tightening his clasp upon the hand she tried to
draw away, "did you mean that you would be my--"

"In name," she interrupted, throwing up her head proudly. "Just to help
you--that was all."