Chapter 7 - Page 2

the miles that separate us. We shall cherish it and the memory of your loyalty to Martel. Meanwhile, you must not feel bound by your promise to come back, which was not a promise, after all, but merely an unselfish offer. Once again I repeat, it would do no good, and might only disappoint you. Besides, I am hoping that you have seen the woman of whom you told me and that she will need you.

"We are all well. We have made no plans.

"Yours gratefully, MARGHERITA GININI"

It was certainly unsatisfying, but her letters had all been of this somewhat formal nature. She persisted, too, in referring to that imaginary woman, and Blake regretted ever having mentioned her. If Margherita suspected the truth, she could not help feeling his lack of delicacy, his disloyalty to Martel, in confessing his love while the Count was still alive; if she really believed him to be in love with some other woman, it would necessitate sooner or later an explanation which he dreaded. At all events, he hoped that the surprise of seeing him unexpectedly, the knowledge that he had really crossed the world to help her, would tend to dissipate her melancholy and restore her old responsiveness.

During the months of his absence the girl had never been out of his mind, and he had striven hard to reconcile his unconquerable love for her with the sense of his own unworthiness. His unforgivable cowardice was a haunting shame, and the more he dwelt upon it the more unspeakably vile he appeared in his own sight; for the Blakes were honorable people. The family was old and cherished traditions common to fine Southern houses; the men of his name prided themselves upon an especially nice sense of honor, which had been conspicuous even in a country where bravery and chivalrous regard for women are basic ideals. Having been reared in such an atmosphere, the young man looked upon his own behavior with almost as much surprise as chagrin. He had always taken it for granted that if he should be confronted with peril he would behave himself like a man. It was inexplicable that he had failed so miserably, for he had no reason to suspect a heritage of cowardice, and he was sound in mind and body. He loved Margherita Ginini with all his heart and his resolution to win her was stronger than ever, but he felt that sooner or later he would have to prove himself as manly as Martel had been, and, having lost faith in himself, the prospect frightened him. If she ever discovered the truth--and such things are very hard to conceal--she would spurn him: any self-respecting woman would do the same.

He had forced himself to an unflinching analysis of his case, with the result that a fresh determination came to him. He resolved to reconstruct his whole being. If he were indeed a physical coward he would deliberately uproot the weakness and make himself into a man. Others had accomplished more difficult tasks, he reasoned; thieves had made