"Good God! Elsie, what can I do to comfort and help you? I implore you to trust me. If I let you go now without retaining some clue by which I can find you, I can never forgive myself."
"I long to tell you much, all, but I must not. Yet I might get leave; I might write. Give me your address; I may write to you."
"Will you promise this, solemnly, faithfully?"
"If I do, will you let me go? I am late already. He will be so anxious."
"He! who?" a throb of fierce jealousy vibrated through Glynn's heart. "If you promise to see me once more, when and where you will, I will trust you and let you go. You see, I have more faith in you than you have in me."
"No; you are free, I am not. I have faith in you, but—Well, promise for promise. I will promise to write to you before Friday night, if you will promise not to make any attempt to discover me until after I have written."
"Good; then promise for promise."
"I promise to write to you, and—and if possible to see you."
"There must be nothing about possibility," said Glynn, sternly. "Give me an unconditional promise, or I shall not leave you!"
She hesitated, and then said solemnly, "I promise."