"Don't, Philip, I entreat of you; you frighten me!
"Look at me!" he commanded, and she slowly raised her head and gazed into his face.
"Do you remember the last time you looked at me like that?" he asked quietly, but even in his low tones there was a compelling force she recognized.
"Come," he said rising, and drawing her toward him. "If it was not love which brought you to my arms before, then it must be the same impulse to-day. Come, Marian, it is not the daughter I want, it is you,—my beloved, my sweetheart of years gone by!"
"Philip!" she protested feebly, "Philip—I entreat—" but the old, irresistible influence was too strong, and he folded her in his arms.
In a moment his face changed as if touched by a magician's wand. The lines which years and disappointment had traced were miraculously smoothed away, and the expression of contentment was that which comes only when the seeker has at last reached the consummation of his quest. The lips moved silently, the eyes looked far into the distance. The past was forgotten, the future unheeded, but the wonderful present was his!
A convulsive sob from Marian finally brought him to himself. He loosened his hold, and gazed into her face with abject horror.
"My God!" he cried, as he allowed her limp form to slip back into the chair. "What have I done! Marian, child, speak to me! Tell me that you forgive me! It was the years which did it, not I; Marian! speak to me! Tell me you forgive me!"
He gazed helplessly around as no response came. She lay there, her head resting on the back of the chair, sobbing hysterically but giving no sign that she even heard his words. He watched her until at last she opened her eyes and regained control. Then he spoke again.
"Leave it unspoken, Marian," he exclaimed with an agony in his voice which the suspense intensified. "I have said it to myself. I have made myself an outcast, a pariah! Let me take you to the house. Then you need never think of me again."