“Hermy, dear, I swear—­oh, I swear I’ll—­”

“Go away!”

“Oh, Hermy, I didn’t think you’d ever—­turn away—­from me.”

“Go away!”

“Oh, Hermy—­won’t you listen?”

“I can’t!  Not now.  Go away.”

Sobbing, the boy got to his feet, and taking his hat, crossed slow-footed to the door; there he paused to look back at her, but her staring eyes gazed through him and, turning hopelessly away, he brushed his sleeve across his cheek and, treading slow and heavily along the passage, was gone.

Dry-eyed she stood awhile, then sank again beside the table and crouched there with face bowed between outstretched arms, and hands tight clenched.  Evening began to fall, but still she sat huddled there, motionless, and uttering no sound, and still her eyes were tearless.  At last she stirred, conscious of a quick, firm step near by, and, thrilling to that sound, rose and stood with her back to the fading light as Ravenslee entered.

“Dear,” said he, tender and eager, “I found the door open—­did you leave it for me?  Why, Hermione—­oh, my love, what is it?” and he would have caught her to him, but she held him away and questioned him, quick-breathing: 

“You are—­Geoffrey Ravenslee—­the millionaire—­aren’t you?”

“Why—­er—­I—­I’m afraid I am,” he stammered.  “I’m sorry you found it out so soon, dearest; I wanted to tell you after we—­”

“Oh, why didn’t you tell me before—­why didn’t you?  No—­please wait!  You—­you caught my—­brother, didn’t you?” she went on breathlessly; “he had broken in—­was burgling your house, wasn’t he—­wasn’t he?”

“How in the world,” began Ravenslee, flinching, “who told—­”

“He broke into your house to—­steal, didn’t he—­didn’t he?”

“But, good heavens—­that was all forgotten and done with long ago!  They’d made the poor chap drunk—­he didn’t know what he was doing—­it’s all forgotten long ago!  Dear heart, why are you so pale?  God, Hermione—­nothing can alter our love!”

“No, nothing can alter our love,” she repeated in the same dull tones.  “Oh, no, nothing can ever alter that; even though you deceived me I shall always love you, I can’t help it.  And just because I do love you so, and because I am a thief’s sister, I—­oh, I can never be your wife—­I couldn’t, could I?”

“By God, Hermione, but you shall!” As he spoke he caught her in his arms, passionate arms that drew and held her close.  Very still and unresisting she lay in his embrace, uttering no word; and stooping, he kissed her fiercely—­her lips, her eyes, her white throat, her hair, and, silent still, she yielded herself to his caresses.

“You are mine, Hermione, mine always and forever!  You are the one woman I long for—­the wife nature intended for me!  You are mine, Hermione!”

Very softly she answered, her eyes closed: