How fair she is, how desirable! "Marian," says he hoarsely, "think! It is indeed my last word.

Will you trust yourself to me as things are, or will you reject me?
Marian, say you will marry me as I now am--poor, ruined." He holds her, gazing at her despairingly.

She would have spoken, perhaps, but no words come to her; no words to soften her grim determination.

She _will_ not marry him poor--and yet she loves him.
Rylton, with a stifled oath, pushes her from him.
"This is the end," says he.
He goes to the door.
"Maurice!" says she faintly.
He turns.
"Well, will you marry me to-morrow ?" asks he mockingly.
"No.

But----" "There is no time for 'buts,'" says he.
He opens the door and closes it sharply behind him.
Mrs.Bethune flings herself back into a chair, and presses her handkerchief to her face.
"Oh, it is nothing, nothing," says she presently.