"I must speak," he said abruptly. "The girl's face haunts me. You do
wrong. It is not the act of a gentleman."

The silence that followed was broken by Haward, who spoke in the smooth,
slightly drawling tones which with him spelled irritation and sudden,
hardly controlled anger. "It is my home-coming," he said. "I am tired, and
wish to-night to eat only of the lotus. Will you take up your cards
again?"

A less impetuous man than MacLean, noting the signs of weakness, fatigue,
and impatience, would have waited, and on the morrow have been listened to
with equanimity. But the Highlander, fired by his cause, thought not of
delay. "To forget!" he exclaimed. "That is the coward's part! I would have
you remember: remember yourself, who are by nature a gentleman and
generous; remember how alone and helpless is the girl; remember to cease
from this pursuit!"

"We will leave the cards, and say good-night," said Haward, with a strong
effort for self-control.

"Good-night with all my heart!" cried the other hotly,--"when you have
promised to lay no further snare for that maid at your gates, whose name
you have blasted, whose heart you have wrung, whose nature you have
darkened and distorted"--

"Have you done?" demanded Haward. "Once more, 't were wise to say
good-night at once."

"Not yet!" exclaimed the storekeeper, stretching out an eager hand. "That
girl hath so haunting a face. Haward, see her not again! God wot, I think