"Is there any service you require of me?" inquired the Rector, coldly.
It was the impulsive Val Elster of old days who answered; his hand held out pleadingly, his ingenuous soul shining forth from his blue eyes.
"Yes, there is, Doctor Ashton; I have come to pray for it—your forgiveness."
"My Christian forgiveness you have had already," returned the clergyman, after a pause.
"But I want something else. I want your pardon as a man; I want you to look at me and speak to me as you used to do. I want to hear you call me 'Val' again; to take my hand in yours, and not coldly; in short, I want you to help me to forgive myself."
In that moment—and Dr. Ashton, minister of the gospel though he was, could not have explained it—all the old love for Val Elster rose bubbling in his heart. A stubborn heart withal, as all hearts are since Adam sinned; he did not respond to the offered hand, nor did his features relax their sternness in spite of the pleading look.
"You must be aware, Lord Hartledon, that your conduct does not merit pardon. As to friendship—which is what you ask for—it would be incompatible with the distance you and I must observe towards each other."
"Why need we observe it—if you accord me your true forgiveness?"
The question was one not easy to respond to candidly. The doctor could not say, Your intercourse with us might still be dangerous to the peace of one heart; and in his inner conviction he believed that it might be. He only looked at Val; the yearning face, the tearful eyes; and in that moment it occurred to the doctor that something more than the ordinary wear and tear of life had worn the once smooth brow, brought streaks of silver to the still luxuriant hair.
"Do you know that you nearly killed her?" he asked, his voice softening.