I went to my room and tried to think, but I could not.  My mind refused to work.  I watched the party ride away—­it was comparatively small now, for several had returned to their homes—­and then I found my way to the library.

I sat for a while in silence, scarcely conscious of my surroundings; and then I wondered how long Miss Forrest would be before she came, and what she would tell me.  The clock on the mantelpiece began to strike three; it had not finished when she entered the room.

I placed a chair for her beside my own, which she accepted without a word.

For a minute neither of us spoke; then she said abruptly, “You told me you loved me when we rode out together the other day.”

“I did,” I said, “and I do love you with all the intensity that a human heart is capable of loving; but it is hopeless now.”

“Why?”

“You have promised to marry another man.”

“What do you know of this?”

Both of us were very excited.  We were moved to talk in an unconventional strain.

“Mr. Temple told me of your interview together last night.”

A slight flush came to her face.  “But Mr. Temple has told you the condition of the promise as well,” she said.

“Yes; but that condition makes me hopeless.”

“What!” she cried.  “But no, I will not entertain such a thought.  You are as innocent as I am.”

“Yes, I am innocent in thought, in intent, and in heart; but as for the deed itself, I know not.”

“I do not understand you,” she said; “you speak in words that convey no meaning to my mind.  Will you explain?”

“I cannot, Miss Forrest.  I would give all I possess if I could.  I have nothing that I would keep secret from you, and yet I cannot tell you that which you would know.”

Did she understand me?  Did her quick mind guess my condition?  I could not tell, and yet a strange look of intelligence flashed from her eyes.

“Mr. Blake,” she said, “my soul loathes the thought of marrying that man.  If ever my promise has to be fulfilled, I shall die the very day on which he calls me wife.”

My heart gave a great throb of joy; her every word gave me hope in spite of myself.

“Mr. Blake,” she continued, “I never must marry him.”

“God grant you may not,” I said.

“I must not,” she said, “and you must keep me from danger.”

“I, Miss Forrest!  I would give the world if I could:  but how can I?  You do not know the terrible slavery that binds me, neither can I tell you.”

“I shall trust in you to deliver me from this man,” she went on without heeding me.  “You must prove yourself to be innocent.”

“To do that I must bring this man Kaffar.  I know nothing of him.  I could never find him.  Oh, I tell you, Miss Forrest, a thousand evil powers seem to rend me when I attempt to do what I long for.”

“I shall trust in you,” she cried.  “Surely you are sufficiently interested in me to save me from a man like Voltaire?”