"I have made up my mind," she said at length, "to take nothing away from Enid Vane that is dear to her. Do you remember how she pleaded with you for me? Do you remember how good she was—how kind? She gave me her shilling because I had had no food that day. I never spent it—I have that shilling still. I have worn it ever since, as a sort of talisman against evil." She felt in her bosom and brought out the coin attached by a little string around her neck. "It has been my greatest treasure! I have had so few treasures in my life. And do you think I am going to be ungrateful? If it broke my heart to give you up, I would not hesitate one moment, when I had reason to think that you were plighted to Enid Vane."
She drew herself away from him as she spoke, and rose to her full height. Hubert stood before her, his eyes on the floor, his lips white and tremulous. What could he say? He had nothing but his love to plead—and his love looked a poor and common thing beside that purity of motive, that height of purpose, that intensity of noble passion which at that moment made Cynthia's face beautiful indeed.
"I will see you no more," she said. "You must go back to Enid Vane, and you must make her happy. For me, I have another work to do. In my own way I—I shall be happy too. There is a double barrier between us, and we must never meet again."
"Is it a barrier that can never be broken down, Cynthia?"
"No," she said—"not unless my father is shown to be innocent to the world and the stain removed from his name—not unless we are sure—sure that Enid Vane has no affection for you save that of a cousin and a friend. And those things are impossibilities; so we must say good-bye."
It seemed as if he had not understood her words. He muttered something, and clutched at the table behind him as if to keep himself from falling.
"Impossibilities indeed!" he said hoarsely, after a moment's pause. "Good-bye, Cynthia!"
Struck with pity for his haggard face and hollow eyes, Cynthia came up to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his cheek.
"I was mad just now! I said more than I think I meant, Hubert. Forgive me before you go; but never come here again."
Their eyes met, and then some instinct prompted her to whisper very low—"Could you not, even now, save my father if you tried?"