“I cannot let you go in this way. I will, I must speak to you.”
“As you will, countess; I am listening.”
“No, not now; you must come again—to-morrow, at this hour.”
He seemed to hesitate.
“I command it. By the memory of your mother, for whom I wept with you!”
“Oh, Martha!”
My name so pronounced thrilled through me like a flash of joy.
“To-morrow then,” I repeated, and looked into his eyes, “at the same hour.”
We had settled it. I returned back to the others, and Tilling, after he had put my hand to his lips again and saluted the others with a bow, went out of the door.
“A singular person,” remarked my father, shaking his head. “What he has been saying just now would find little favour in the higher circles.”