Henry felt a light touch on his shoulder; when he turned around, Jane stood right before him, but the obstinacy and the contempt had vanished from her manner; she had lowered her head as if conscious of guilt, and her glance was fixed upon the floor. "I did you wrong!" she said softly, and almost an entreaty lay in her tone as she added, "I did not think that you could love." Henry drew back; there came over him a suspicion of what was before him, and his brow grew yet more dark, his features yet more hard, his whole manner expressed grim, icy repulsion. "Enough of confession!" he said roughly. "I request you once more, Miss Forest, to name the day of our nuptials. I expect your answer,--expect it immediately." Jane yet stood before him with downcast eyes; now she suddenly laid both hands on his arm. "Henry." He trembled, and turned away. "You have set a cruel choice before me, and fearful was the threat with which you forced me to silence, him to inaction. His life and my future now lie in your hands alone, Henry.--Give him back his unfortunate promise, and me freedom!" With a violent movement he flung back her hand. "What do you mean by that tone, Jane? Do you think to compel me with it? Have you gathered nothing other from my words than that I would now play a magnanimous role and lead you to his arms? Not a word further, not a single word more, or--I forget myself!" The forbiddal sounded wild and threatening enough, but it remained without effect; Jane was now conscious of her power; she felt no further fear. "I no longer offer you my wealth, and all else I have to give, belongs to another. I can compel nothing from you, purchase nothing from you; well, then, I now entreat you; Henry, for your own salvation and for mine, release me from my promise!" She had fallen on her knees before him, her voice trembled in anguished entreaty, in soft, moaning supplication, such as he had never before heard from these lips; the large dark eyes gazed upon him full and steadily, they were full of burning tears; her whole manner was so entirely changed, so different from the Jane Forest he had hitherto known, that for the first time, at this moment, Henry felt what he was to lose with her. "_At my feet!_ I might be proud of the triumph did I not know too well whom I must thank for it! Miss Forest once would sooner have taken upon herself a whole life full of torture and wretchedness, would sooner have died even, than allow a word of entreaty to fall from her lips. But his happiness is at stake, _his_ future, and here she can take a thousand humiliations upon herself; and even if her pride bled from a thousand wounds, she could entreat, kneel even--and this she would never have done for herself.--Would you, Jane?" This time, Jane remained proof against his irony; she felt only the infinite bitterness whence it came, felt that through all his grim resistance, her triumph was fighting its upward way.