He stood stiffly facing her.  “I never repented.  I’d do the same again now—­or worse, to such a man as that.  He was a brute beast.  But—­I suppose God doesn’t allow these things.  Anyway, I’ve been punished—­pretty heavily.  I got fond of the boy.  He was the only thing left to care for.  He took the place of everything else.  And now—­because of a damnable lie—­” Something seemed to rise in his throat, he paused, struggling with himself, finally went on jerkily, with difficulty.  “One more thing—­you’d better know.  It’ll help you to—­forget me.  The man I killed was not my own father—­except in name.  My mother refused to marry the man she loved because she thought it would injure his career—­his people threatened to disown him.  She gave herself instead to—­the scoundrel whose name I bear—­just to set him free.”

Again he stopped.  Juliet had moved.  She was coming up the long room to him, not quickly, but with purpose.  He stood, still facing her, his breathing short and hard.

Quietly, with that regal bearing that was so supremely her own, she drew near.  And her eyes were shining with a light that made her beautiful.  She reached him and stood before him.

“Dick,” she said, “I am not like your mother.  I’ve been fighting against it, but it’s too strong for me.  I have got to marry—­the man I love.”

He made an impotent gesture, and she saw that he was trembling.

She stood a moment, then reached out, took his arms, and drew them gently round her.  “Are you still trying to send me away?” she said.  “Because—­it’s stronger than both of us, Dick—­and I’m not going—­I’m not going!”

He looked into the shining, steadfast eyes, and suddenly the desperate strain was over.  His resistance snapped.  “God forgive me!” he said under his breath, and caught her passionately close.

There was that in his hold—­perhaps because of the fulness of her surrender—­that had never been before,—­something flaming, something fiercely electric, in his swift acceptance of her.  As he clasped her, she felt the wild throbbing of his heart like the pulsing force of a racing engine.  He kissed her, and in his kiss there was more than the lover’s adoration.  It held the demand and mastery of matehood.  By it he claimed and sealed her for his own.

When his hold relaxed, she made no effort to withdraw herself.  She leaned against him gasping a little, but her eyes—­with the glory yet shining in them—­were still raised to his.

“So that’s settled, is it?” she said, with a quivering smile.  “You are quite sure, Dick?”

His hands were clasped behind her.  His look had a certain burning quality as if he challenged all the world for her possession.

“What am I to say to you, Juliet?” he said, his words low, deeply vibrant.  “I can’t deny—­my other self—­can I?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “You were very near it, weren’t you?  I thought you had—­all these weeks.”