All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. ‘I thank you. It is no good going into that. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. ” “You came to tell me this?” “I came for you,” he declared fiercely.
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