“I did not need but one day, Miss Davis,” went on the other pleadingly, “to know that I loved you—­to know that I no longer set any value on the things that I had struggled all my life to win; for you are perfect, Miss Davis.  You are so far beyond me that I have scarcely the courage to ask you what I do.  But I must ask you, and know my fate.”

He stopped again and gazed at her; and Helen looked at him wildly, and then turned away once more, trembling.  She wished that he would only continue still longer, for the word was upon her lips, and yet it was horror for her to utter it, because she felt she ought not to yield so soon,—­because she wanted some delay; she sought for some word that would be an evasion, that would make him urge her more strongly; she wished to be wooed and made to surrender, and yet she could find no pretext.

“Answer me, Miss Davis!” exclaimed the other, passionately.

“What—­what do you wish me to say?” asked Helen faintly.

“I wish you to tell me that you will be my wife; I wish you to take me for what I can give you for your happiness and your glory.  I ask nothing else, I make no terms; if you will do it, it will make me the happiest man in the world.  There is nothing else that I care for in life.”

And then as the girl still stood, flushed and shuddering, hovering upon the verge, he took her hand in his and begged her to reply.  “You must not keep me in suspense!” he exclaimed.  “You must tell me,—­tell me.”

And Helen, almost sinking, answered him “Yes!” It was such a faint word that she scarcely heard it herself, but the other heard it, and trembling with delight, he caught her in his arms and pressed a burning kiss upon her cheek.

The effect surprised him; for the fire which had burned Helen and inflamed her cheeks had been ambition, and ambition alone.  It was the man’s money that she wanted and she was stirred with no less horror than ever at the thought of the price to be paid; therefore the touch of his rough mustache upon her cheek acted upon her as an electric contact, and all the shame in her nature burst into flame.  She tore herself loose with almost a scream.  “No, no!” she cried.  “Stop!”

Mr. Harrison gazed at her in astonishment for a moment, scarcely able to find a word to say.  “Miss Davis,” he protested, “Helen—­what is the matter?”

“You had no right to do that!” she cried, trembling with anger.

“Helen!” protested the other, “have you not just promised to be my wife?” And the words made the girl turn white and drop her eyes in fear.

“Yes, yes,” she panted helplessly, “but you should not—­it is too soon!” The other stood watching her, perhaps divining a little of the cause of her agitation, and feeling, at any rate, that he could be satisfied for the present with his success.  He answered, very humbly, “Perhaps you are right; I am very sorry for offending you,” and stood silently waiting until the girl’s emotions had subsided a little, and she had looked at him again.  “You will pardon me?” he asked.