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 its freshness and grace. The subtle perfume from her filled him with strange emotions. Hs tender look fell warmly upon her. She leaned to it, thirstily.

“Ten minutes,” said David, “is given me in which to do what I would devote years to achieve. I will not say I pity you, mademoiselle; it would not be true—I love you. I cannot ask love from you yet, but let me rescue you from this cruel man, and, in time, love may come. I think I have a future; I will not always be a shepherd. For the present I will cherish you with all my heart and make your life less sad. Will you trust your fate to me, mademoiselle?”

“Ah, you would sacrifice yourself from pity!”

“From love. The time is almost up, mademoiselle.”

“You will regret it, and despise me.”

“I will live only to make you happy, and myself worthy of you.”

Her fine small hand crept into his from beneath her cloak.

“I will trust you,” she breathed, “with my life. And—and love—may not be so far off as you think. Tell him. Once away from the power of his eyes I may forget.”

David went and stood before the marquis. The black figure stirred, and the mocking eyes glanced at the great hall clock.

“Two minutes to spare. A shepherd requires eight minutes to decide whether he will accept a bride of beauty and income! Speak up, shepherd, do you consent to become mademoiselle’s husband?”