"Mr. Vavasour, I am going to the war, from which I expect never to return. If you believe me, give me your hand before I go."
Elsley, without lifting his head, beat on the table with his hand.
"I wish to die at peace with you and all the world. I am innocent in word, in thought. I shall not insult another person by saying that she is so. If you believe me, give me your hand."
Elsley stretched his hand, his head still buried. Campbell took it, and went silently downstairs.
"Is he gone?" moaned he, after a while.
"Yes."
"Does she—does she care for him?"
"Good heavens! How did you ever dream such an absurdity?"
Elsley only beat upon the table.
"She has been ill?"