It was the moment of Millar's complete triumph, and he gloated over Olga as she sat there, her trembling hands covering her face, much as a large cat gloats over a mouse, helpless beneath his paws. He lied deliberately about the letter, which even then reposed in the inside pocket of his immaculate frock coat. But he reserved it for a final coup. He knew that Olga, believing Karl was in possession of the letter, would yield to the inevitable; that she would again confess her love, even to Karl himself, and that only a miracle of resolution and faith and strength could save the two young people from the abyss of dishonor and unhappiness into which he was about to plunge them.

He sipped his tea in silence. Several moments elapsed before Olga was able to control herself. Then she asked, without looking at Millar, and her voice was dry with pain:

"Did—did Karl read the letter?"

"Oh, yes," Millar said, with another sip of tea.

"Oh, God! too late!" she cried.

Millar arose and stood behind Olga's chair, leaning over her and speaking in a soft, low voice.

"After he read the letter he buried his face in his pillow and wept," he said.

"He wept?"

"Yes; he wept with joy. I do not like men who weep."

Olga did not heed his flippancy. She looked up at him imploringly.

"I did not want him to get that letter," she said. "I came to ask him to give it back to me unopened. I am too late."

"It is not you who are too late; it was I who was too early," Millar said deprecatingly.

"Oh, is this life really a serious matter?" Olga exclaimed; "when everything can depend upon one's getting here a few moments before or a few minutes after 3 o'clock?""That is it exactly," Millar said. "We should not take it so seriously."

Olga looked thoughtfully away from him and said to herself softly:

"He wept."

"From joy," Millar repeated after her, in the same soft voice.

"I am afraid to speak to him, and yet I must," Olga cried, starting up. "I would like to go far, far away, but I cannot. Something seems to hold me here. I cannot, cannot go. What will become of me?"

"You will be very happy and will make Karl very happy," Millar said.

Heinrich entered and took the tea-things.

"Mr. Karl will be down in a moment," he said.

Olga clasped her hands tragically and turned an imploring face on Millar, who started for the studio door.

"Good-by," he said. "I will leave you to speak to Karl alone."

"Please don't go," Olga implored.

"I can hardly remain under the circumstances," he said.

He knew that to further his design Karl and Olga should meet quite alone. He would see to it that even old Heinrich did not interrupt them until Olga had repeated her confession of love, and the hoax of the letter had been revealed. Then he would reappear, with the letter, and they might read it together.

Olga knew that her own frail, feminine heart would give way if she were left alone to meet Karl. Evil as she believed Millar to be, yet she dreaded his going now.

"I am afraid to be alone with him," she said. "Won't you please stay?"

"But if I stay, how could you speak to Karl about the letter?" Millar asked. "And you must say something about it, you know. I would only be in the way."

Olga weakened and began to pace the floor again.

"Well, I shall be quite frank with him," she said. "I shall be honest. I shall ask him for the last time——"

Karl's voice was heard in his own room, calling to Heinrich.

"He is coming," Millar said. "I will leave you.""Please don't go very far away," Olga implored.

"I shall be here," Millar said, going to a small anteroom adjoining the studio. "If you need me, call."

He stepped within the other room and closed the door softly. Olga stood, her hands gripping the back of her chair, waiting.

Karl entered the reception-room and stood for an instant looking at Olga. He showed that he, too, had suffered during the night. His face was white and drawn. When he saw Olga standing there, a mute statue of despair, he was filled with pity for her and self-abasement. He stepped quickly to her side, caught her hands and kissed them passionately.

"I ought to go down on my knees and beg your pardon for my conduct last night, Olga," he said.

She turned to him quickly, yielding her hands to him, leaning toward him, speaking eagerly.

"Speak very low; he is in there," she said, pointing to the anteroom where Millar was hiding. "Let us be brief, Karl. I have been very foolish, but I could not control myself. After what happened I wanted to know. I wanted to feel that you loved me as I thought you did, as I hoped you did, day and night, every minute."

"Olga!" he exclaimed rapturously.

"I WANTED TO FEEL THAT YOU LOVED ME AS I HOPED YOU DID."—Page 173.

By Permission of Henry W. Savage.

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He was not prepared for this. He feared that he had offended her, and her impulsive declaration swept him from his feet. He watched her face eagerly, hungrily, as she went on, talking very rapidly, and making no effort to disengage her hands, which he held clasped to his breast.

"Everything has changed since yesterday, Karl. But let us try to repeat what we said then. Let us shake hands honorably. Let us try to be strong and keep our promises, as we have kept them so long, Karl. If I have been bold and frivolous it was only because I wanted to know what you thought of me; nothing else. But I am afraid I have been punished too much."

Her passion swept her along, as she was swayed alternately by love for Karl and the saner impulse to flee from him. But the sweetness of knowing that she was loved, of feeling her hands clasped in his, after all her years of self-depression, broke down her resolution.

"I fear it is too late, Karl. My strength is gone. My will is lost. We have gone back six years. Karl, I love you."