Bernardine was slightly confused at first by his presence; then she began to view the matter in another light--that the young doctor had taken quite an interest in her father. He had certainly cured him of a terrible habit, and she was only too pleased that her father should have visits from so pleasant a man.She always had some work in her slender white hands when the doctor called. Sometimes, glancing up unexpectedly, she would find the doctor's keen blue eyes regarding her intently, and she would bend lower over her sewing. Jay Gardiner, however, saw the flush that rose to her cheek and brow. As he sat in that little tenement sitting-room -- he who had been flattered and courted by the most beautiful heiresses -- he experienced a feeling of rest come over him. He would rather pass one hour in that plain, unpretentious sitting-room than visit the grandest Fifth Avenue mansion. 

And thus a fortnight passed. At the end of that time, Jay Gardiner stood face to face with the knowledge of his own secret -- that he had at last met in Bernardine Moore the idol of his life. He stood face to face with this one fact -- that wealth, grandeur, anything that earth could give him, was of little value unless he had the love of sweet Bernardine. It came upon him suddenly that the sweet witchery, the glamor falling over him was -- love. He realized that he lived only in Bernardine's presence, and that without her life would be but a blank to him. His love for Bernardine became the one great passion of his life. Compared with her, all other women paled into insignificance. 

He fell, without knowing it, from a state of intense admiration into one of blind adoration for her. He had never before trembled at a woman's touch. Now, if his hand touched hers, he trembled as a strong tree trembles in a storm. Looking forward to the years to come, he saw no gleam of brightness in them unless they were spent with the girl he loved. 

Then came the awakening. He received a letter from Sally Pendleton, in which she upbraided him for not writing. That letter reminded him that he was not free; that before he had met Bernardine, he had bound himself in honor to another. He was perplexed, agitated. He loved Bernardine with his whole heart, and yet, upon another girl's hand shone his betrothal-ring. When the knowledge of his love for sweet Bernardine came to him, he told himself that he ought to fly from her; go where the witchery of her face, the charm of her presence, would never set his heart on fire; go where he could never hear her sweet voice again. 

"Only a few days more," he said, 

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