The burden on Clara's mind weighs on it more heavily than ever,after what Mrs. Crayford has said to her. She is too unhappy tofeel the inspiriting influence of the dance. After a turn roundthe room, she complains of fatigue. Mr. Francis Aldersley looksat the conservatory (still as invitingly cool and empty as ever);leads her back to it; and places her on a seat among the shrubs.She tries--very feebly--to dismiss him.

"Don't let me keep you from dancing, Mr. Aldersley."

He seats himself by her side, and feasts his eyes on the lovelydowncast face that dares not turn toward him. He whispers to her:

"Call me Frank."

She longs to call him Frank--she loves him with all her heart.But Mrs. Crayford's warning words are still in her mind. Shenever opens her lips. Her lover moves a little closer, and asksanother favor. Men are all alike on these occasions. Silenceinvariably encourages them to try again.

"Clara! have you forgotten what I said at the concert yesterday?May I say it again?"

"No!"

"We sail to-morrow for the Arctic seas. I may not return foryears. Don't send me away without hope! Think of the long, lonelytime in the dark North! Make it a happy time for _me_."

Though he speaks with the fervor of a man, he is little more thana lad: he is only twenty years old, and he is going to risk hisyoung life on the frozen deep! Clara pities him as she neverpitied any human creature before. He gently takes her hand. Shetries to release it.

"What! not even that little favor on the last night?"

Her faithful heart takes his part, in spite of her. Her handremains in his, and feels its soft persuasive pressure. She is alost woman. It is only a question of time now!

"Clara! do you love me?"

There is a pause. She shrinks from looking at him--she trembleswith strange contradictory sensations of pleasure and pain. Hisarm steals round her; he repeats his question in a whisper; hislips almost touch her little rosy ear as he says it again:

"Do you love me?"

She closes her eyes faintly--she hears nothing but thosewords--feels nothing but his arm round her --forgets Mrs.Crayford's warning--forgets Richard Wardour himself--turnssuddenly, with a loving woman's desperate disregard of everythingbut her love--nestles her head on his bosom, and answers him inthat way, at last!

He lifts the beautiful drooping head--their lips meet in theirfirst kiss--they are both in heaven: it is Clara who brings themback to earth again with a start--it is Clara who says, "Oh! whathave I done?"--as usual, when it is too late.

Frank answers the question.

"You have made me happy, my angel. Now, when I come back, I comeback to make you my wife."

She shudders. She remembers Richard Wardour again at those words.

"Mind!" she says, "nobody is to know we are engaged till I permityou to mention it. Remember that!"

He promises to remember it. His arm tries to wind round her oncemore. No! She is mistress of herself; she can positively dismisshim now--after she has let him kiss her!

"Go!" she says. "I want to see Mrs. Crayford. Find her! Say I amhere, waiting to speak to her. Go at once, Frank--for my sake!"

There is no alternative but to obey her. His eyes drink a lastdraught of her beauty. He hurries away on his errand--thehappiest man in the room. Five minutes since she was only hispartner in the dance. He has spoken--and she has pledged herselfto be his partner for life!