She was positively writhing with agitation; and tears, real tears I am sure, started into my father's eyes.
"My poor little Julia!" he said; "my darling! But what can be done if you will not marry Martin?"
"He ought to go away from Guernsey," she sobbed. "I should feel better if I was quite sure I should never see him, or hear of other people seeing him."
"I will go," I said. "Guernsey will be too hot for me when all this is known."
"And, uncle," she pursued, speaking to him, not me, "he ought to promise me to give up that girl. I cannot set him free to go and marry her—a stranger and adventuress. She will be his ruin. I think, for my sake, he ought to give her up."
"So he ought, and so he will, my love," answered my father. "When he thinks of all we owe to you, he will promise you that."
I pondered over what our family owed to Julia for some minutes. It was truly a very great debt. Though I had brought her into perhaps the most painful position a woman could be placed in, she was generously sacrificing her just resentment and revenge against my father's dishonesty, in order to secure our name from blot.
On the other hand, I had no reason to suppose Olivia loved me, and I should do her no wrong. I felt that, whatever it might cost me, I must consent to Julia's stipulation.
"It is the hardest thing you could ask me," I said, "but I will give her up. On one condition, however; for I must not leave her without friends. I shall tell Tardif, if he ever needs help for Olivia, he must apply to me through my mother."
"There could be no harm in that," observed my father.