Success now, in this last venture, would mean everything to her, while failure would leave her nothing, only blank despair.

Pride, the dominant passion of her life, struggled with a newly awakened love; doubt and dread and fear battled with hope, but even in the unequal contest, hope would not be vanquished.
Shortly before the hour appointed, Richard Hobson's card was handed her with the information that he must see her without delay.

She understood the nature of his errand; she knew his coming was inevitable; her only desire was to postpone the meeting with him until after the interview with Harold Mainwaring, but on no account would she have him know of her appointment with the latter.

She tore the bit of pasteboard in two.
"Tell him to call to-morrow," she said to the messenger; but he soon returned, with another card on which was written,-- "Important! must see you to-day." It was nearly five.

Quickly, with fingers trembling from her anxiety lest he delay too long, she wrote,-- "Call at eight o'clock this evening; I can see no one earlier." As she gave the card to the messenger, she glanced again at the little French clock on the mantel.
"Three hours," she murmured; "three hours in which to decide my fate! If I succeed, I can bid defiance to that craven when he shall come to-night; if not--" she shuddered and walked over to the window, where she watched eagerly till she saw the cringing figure going hastily down the street.
He had but just disappeared around the corner of the block when a closed carriage was driven rapidly to the hotel, and a moment later Harold Scott Mainwaring was announced.
Her heart throbbed wildly as she turned to meet him, then suddenly stopped, seeming a dead weight in her breast, as her eyes met his.
For a moment neither spoke; once her lips moved, but no sound came from them.