"To-morrow?" he insisted.
"What were the use?"
"I vow," he said with grim earnestness, "that if you dismiss me now, without the hope of seeing you again, I'll straight to the river, and seek oblivion in death."
"'Twere the act of a coward!" she retorted.
"Mayhap. But Fate has dealt overharshly with me. I cannot face life if you turn in bitterness from me. Heaven only knows how I can face it at all without you—but your forgiveness may help me to live; it would keep me back from the lasting disgrace of a suicide's grave, from eternal damnation. Will you let me come to-morrow? Will you give me your forgiveness then?"
He tried to draw near her again, but she put out her hand and drew resolutely back.
"Mayhap—mayhap," she said hurriedly. "I know not—but not now, my lord—I entreat you to go."
She rang the bell quickly, as if half afraid of herself, lest she might yield, after all. Mistress Julia knew but little of love—perhaps until this moment she had never realised that she cared for this young man, quite apart from the position and wealth which he would be able to give her. But now, somehow, she felt intensely sorry for him, and there was quite a small measure of unselfishness in her grief at this irrevocable turn of events. The glance which she finally turned upon him softened the cruelty of his dismissal.
"Come and say good-bye to-morrow," she murmured. Then she raised a finger to her lips. "Sh!—sh!—sh!" she whispered scarce above her breath; "say nothing more now—I could not bear it. But come and say good-bye to-morrow."