A cold shudder ran through my veins.

God! could I take his hand in mine?
I must--if I would act my part thoroughly--for should I refuse he would think it strange--even rude--I should lose the game by one false move.

With a forced smile I hesitatingly held out my hand also--it was gloved, yet as he clasped it heartily in his own the warm pressure burned through the glove like fire.

I could have cried out in agony, so excruciating was the mental torture which I endured at that moment.

But it passed, the ordeal was over, and I knew that from henceforth I should be able to shake hands with him as often and as indifferently as with any other man.