tunic, tore it from her bosom, and flung both arms wide apart. “See!” she whispered, and Rupert Venner flung away the dagger, stumbled to his feet, and swept her into his crushing embrace while she abandoned herself to him with a long, quivering sigh.

“By the gods!” he swore hoarsely, “show me what I have to do. Wonderful, wonderful Dolores!”

“Patience,” she smiled, resting her head on his breast. “First tell me thy name. What shall thy Dolores call thee?”

“I am Rupert. Call me slave!”

“Rupert. It is a name to love. Slave? Nay, it is I who shall be slave to thee. But patience again, Rupert. When we two go from here, there can be no other to