She had attained her end and at the price she had expected to pay. And yet she hesitated. She dropped her head and her figure seemed to relax and grow smaller under his touch. He leaned over her, expectancy and delight written upon his features.
“Will you promise, Barbara?” he repeated.
She straightened her head, but did not draw away as she answered, at last:
“I will.”
He put his hands in his breast, and, drawing out the packet, laid it before her upon the table.
“There is my honor, Barbara. Take it. I give it to you willingly—as I give you my life.”
She took the packet of papers and looked at the blurred writing upon the outside. Captain Ferrers made a step towards her, and, taking her hand again, would have drawn her towards him. But as he approached and she felt his breath warm upon her cheek, a change came over her and she drew back and away from him to the other side of the table.
Captain Ferrers could not understand. His brows knit angrily.
“How now, Barbara—” he began.
“Not to-day, Stephen. Not to-day, I pray you.” She was half smiling, half crying. “Can you not see I am overwrought with my grief and worries? Leave me for the day. I will requite you better another time.”