A great tenderness possessed him.

A burning temptation to cast to the winds his plighted word, to make a mock of faith, to deride honour, and to seize this woman for his own.

She loved him he knew it now; he loved her--the knowledge had come as suddenly upon him.

Compared with this what could his faith, his word, his honour give him?
What to him, in the face of this, was that paltry fellow, his son, who had spurned him! The hardest fight he ever fought, he fought it there, lying supine upon the ground, his head in her lap.
Had he fought it out with closed eyes, perchance honour and his plighted word had won the day; but he opened them, and they met Cynthia's.
A while they stayed thus; the hungry glance of his grey eyes peering into the clear blue depths of hers; and in those depths his soul was drowned, his honour stifled.
"Cynthia," he cried, "God pity me, I love you!" And he swooned again..