“I—I—Oh, what shall I do, Brune?”
“For mother’s sake, Will!”
He trembled until the chair shook. He dared not look at the weeping girl. She rose up. She gently moved away his 124 hands. She kissed his eyelids. She said, with an irresistible entreaty: “Look at me, Will. I am speaking for mother. Let Ulfar alone. I do not say forgive him.”
“Nay, I will never forgive him.”
“But let him alone. Will! Will! let him alone, for mother’s sake!”
Then he stood up. He looked into Aspatria’s eyes; he let his gaze wander to the crimson shawl. He began to sob like a child.
“You may go, Aspatria,” he said, in broken words. “If you ask me anything in mother’s name, I have no power to say no.”
He walked to the window and looked out into the dark stormy night, and Brune motioned to Aspatria to go away. He knew Will would regain himself better in her absence. She was glad to go. As soon as Will had granted her request, she fell to the lowest ebb of life. She could hardly drag herself up the long, dark stairs. She dropped asleep as soon as she reached her room.