But now his very reticence in her own interest, and by her father's wishes, made for her pain.

Harold had put his strongest restraint on himself, and in his own way suffered a sort of silent martyrdom.

He loved Stephen with every fibre of his being.

Day by day he came toward her with eager step; day by day he left her with a pang that made his heart ache and seemed to turn the brightness of the day to gloom.

Night by night he tossed for hours thinking, thinking, wondering if the time would ever come when her kisses would be his.