"Mark, don't go!" Tears were gathering in her eyes.
He looked at her, his whole face eloquent with love. All the resolutions he had made were forgotten.
"Grace, I must say what I have told myself a thousand times I would never say. Grace, I love you—love you better than I do my own soul, and because I so love you, it is better that I go away and never return."
"I don't understand," she murmured. "You said things the other day I didn't understand, and you made me angry."
"Grace, you are fit to reign a queen in some palace. I am poor and unknown. But it is not my poverty that has kept me from declaring my love. It is because I am unworthy of you—because I have deceived you in some things. Grace, I am not worthy to kiss the earth you tread on."
A death-like pallor came over the face of the girl. "Mark, for the love of Heaven, tell me—tell me! Are you married, or have you committed some heinous crime?"
"Married! Why, Grace, I never thought of love until I saw you. I knew not what love was. Neither am I a criminal. Things are done in war that would be criminal in times of peace."
"Then why do you say you are so unworthy? Mark, it's that terrible secret you are keeping from me! Mark, tell me what it is?" She put her hands on his shoulders, looking yearningly in his face.
Mark Grafton shook like a leaf. "Grace! Grace!" he cried, "don't tempt me! You know not what you ask."
"Then you refuse to tell me?" She had taken her hands from his shoulders; there was an angry flush on her cheeks.