"I love you!" she breathed, her star-like eyes meeting his unflinchingly. "Oh, how strange it is! I don't even know your name."
He winced imperceptibly, and his lips drew straight. 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. It will seem an age——"