“You want me to forgive you?”
“If you could, Modred—if you only could.”
“And not to peach?”
I hung my head in shame and the tears were in my eyes again.
“Well, I’ll agree, on one condition.”
“Make any you like, Modred. I’ll swear to keep it; I’ll never forget it.”
“Zyp’s it,” he said, looking away from me.
“Yes,” I said, gently, with a prescience of what was coming.
“You’ll have to give her up for good and all—keep out of her way; let her know somehow you’re sick of her. And keep Jason out of the way. You and he were chums enough before she came.”
“I swear for myself, and to do what I can with Jason,” I said, dully. What did it matter? One way or another the buoyant light of existence was shut to me for good and all.