She put her hand on his shoulder; he turned his head and pressed his lips upon it. She did not draw it away, but stood, melting his hard heart with her wonderfully sweet gaze. He yielded all at once—she knew she had conquered. He sank down on one knee before her, and bowed his face upon his hands. She stooped over him, her hair swept his shoulders, the brown mingling with the deeper chestnut of his curling locks.
"You will promise me, Mr. Trevlyn?"
He looked up suddenly.
"What will you give me, if I promise?"
"Ask for it."
He lifted a curl of shining hair.
"Yes," she said. "Promise me what I ask, and I will give it to you."
He took his pocket-knife and severed the tress.
"I promise you. I break my vow; I seek no revenge. I forgive John Trevlyn, and may God forgive him also. He is safe from me. I submit to have my parents sleep on unavenged. I leave him and his sins to the God whom he denies; and all because you have asked it of me."
Slowly and silently they went up to the house. At the door he said no good-night—he only held her hand a moment, closely, and then turned away.