Neale was astounded, agitated, intensely concerned.

“Allie! ...  Your father lives!” he exclaimed.

“Yes.”

“Then I must find him—­take you to him.”

“Do what you think best,” she replied, sadly.  “But I never saw him.  I’ve no love for him.  And he never knew I was born.”

“Is it possible?  How strange! ...  If any man could see you now!  Allie, do you resemble your mother?”

“Yes, we were alike.”

“Where is your father?” Neale went on, curiously.

“How should I know?  It was in New Orleans that mother ran off from him.  I—­I never blamed her—­since she said what she said....  Do you?  Will this—­make any difference to you?”

“My God, no!  But I’m so—­so thunderstruck....  This man—­this Durade —­tell me more of him.”

“He was a Spaniard of high degree, an adventurer, a gambler.  He was mad to gamble.  He forced my mother to use her beauty to lure men to his gambling-hell....  Oh, it’s terrible to remember.  She said he meant to use me for that purpose.  That’s why she left him.  But in a way he was good to me.  I can see so many things now to prove he was wicked....  And mother said he would follow her—­track her to the end of the world.”

“Allie!  If he should find you some day!” exclaimed Neale, hoarsely.

She put her arms up round his neck.  And that, following a terrible pang of dread in Neale’s breast, was too much for him.  The tide burst.  Love had long claimed him, but its utterance had been withheld.  He had been happy in her happiness.  He had trained himself to spare her.

“But some day—­I’ll be—­your wife,” she whispered.

“Soon?  Soon?” he returned, trembling.

The scarlet fired her temples, her brow, darkening the skin under her bright hair.

“That’s for you to say.”

She held up her lips, tremulous and sweet.

Neale realized the moment had come.  There had never been but the one kiss between them—­that of the meeting upon his return in September.

“Allie, I love you!” He spoke thickly.

“And I love you,” she replied, with sweet courage.

“This news you’ve told—­this man Durade,” he went on, hoarsely, “I’m suddenly alive—­stinging—­wild! ...  If I lost you!”

“Dear, you will never lose me—­never in this world or any other,” she replied, tenderly.

“My work, my hope, my life, they all get spirit now from you ...  Allie!  You’re sweet—­oh, so sweet!  You’re glorious!” he rang out, passionately.

Surprise momentarily checked the rising response of her feeling.

“Neale!  You’ve never before said—­such-things! ...  And the way you look!”

“How do I look?” he queried, seeing the joyousness of her surprise.

Then she laughed and that was new to him—­a sound low, unutterably rich and full, sweet-toned like a bell, and all resonant of youth.