But he did not smile; the look of intensity in his eyes deepened.

“Come, Mr. Lester,” he protested, “don’t play with me.  I have a right to know the truth.”

“What right?” I queried.

He paused an instant, as though nerving himself to speak, as though asking himself how much he should tell me.  Then he came toward me impulsively.

“Miss Vaughan and I are engaged to be married,” he said.  “Some persons may tell you that the engagement has been broken off; more than once, I have offered to release her, but she refuses to be released.  We love each other.”

The word “love” is a difficult one for us Anglo-Saxons to pronounce; the voice in which Swain uttered it brought me to my feet, with outstretched hand.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, my boy,” I said, “tell me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lester,” and he returned my clasp.  “You have done a great deal already in giving me this letter so promptly.  The only other thing you can do is to permit me to stay here until to-night.”

“Until to-night?”

“Miss Vaughan asks me to meet her to-night.”

“In her father’s grounds?”

“Yes.”

“Unknown to him?”

“Yes.”

“He is not friendly to you?”

“No.”

I had a little struggle with myself.

“See here, Swain,” I said, “sit down and let us talk this thing over calmly.  Before I promise anything, I should like to know more of the story.  From the glimpse I caught of Miss Vaughan, I could see that she is very beautiful, and she also seemed to me to be very young.”

“She is nineteen,” said Swain.

“Her father is wealthy, I suppose?”

“Very wealthy.”

“And her mother is dead?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” I began, and hesitated, fearing to wound him.

“I know what you are thinking,” Swain burst in, “and I do not blame you.  You are thinking that she is a young, beautiful and wealthy girl, while I am a poverty-stricken nonentity, without any profession, and able to earn just enough to live on—­perhaps I couldn’t do even that, if I had to buy my clothes!  You are thinking that her father is right to separate us, and that she ought to be protected from me.  Isn’t that it?”

“Yes,” I admitted, “something like that.”

“And I answer, Mr. Lester, by saying that all that is true, that I am not worthy of her, and that nobody knows it better than I do.  There are thousands of men who could offer her far more than I can, and who would be eager to offer it.  But when I asked her to marry me, I thought myself the son of a wealthy man.  When I found myself a pauper, I wrote at once to release her.  She replied that when she wished her release, she would ask for it; that it wasn’t my money she was in love with.  Then I came out here and had a talk with her father.  He was kind enough, but pointed out that the affair could not go further until I had established myself.  I agreed, of course; I agreed, too, when he suggested that it would only be fair to her to leave her free—­not to see her or write to her, or try to influence her in any way.  I wanted to be fair to her.  Since then, I have not seen her, nor heard from her.  But her father’s feelings have changed toward me.”