They had almost formed the words "Derrick Dene," but he held them back.
"Sydney," he said.

"Sydney Green." "Sydney," she murmured; and though Derrick hated the name on her lips, yet it sounded the sweetest music.
"You'll meet me to-morrow here, in the morning, Celia?
I could not wait all day.

Be here at ten o'clock." "I will." "By that time, I shall have thought things over; I shall be able to tell you----Oh, dearest, must you go?
You seem to take my life with you." "And I leave mine with you," she said, gravely.
"Celia! You've got my life and my heart in this little hand of yours." He kissed it.
"And do you think I shall not hold them?
But I must go.

Yes; kiss me once more--only once, or I shall never be able to leave you.

I will be here at ten o'clock.