Every selfish interest, every tradition of her family pleaded for him. She was fond of him too. She had always liked him as a friend; she had always admired him as a loyal gentleman and a soldier. Of course, he was not clever. He was no lover of books, and, compared with Bob, he was an ignoramus; but what did that matter? He was a brave man--a gentleman. As for Bob, all their former relations were ended. He himself had closed and bolted the door between them. The choice had been between her and honour on the one hand, and selfish ease and cowardice on the other. And Bob had chosen to be a coward. What could she do, therefore, but drive him from her mind, and crush all affection for him? Was it not her duty to her father, her family, and to herself to accept Trevanion? "You are not vexed with me, are you?" went on Trevanion, after he had waited a few seconds. "No, not vexed." "Then--then, can't you give me a word of hope? I--I don't even ask you to make a definite promise, although I'd give my eyes if you could; but if you could tell me that you liked no one better, and that I--I may speak again--if--if I come back, I could go away with a braver heart. I should feel all the time as if I were fighting for you. Just say something to cheer me, won't you, Nancy?" "I'm afraid I can't," the girl's voice was hoarse as she spoke. Evidently his words had moved her greatly. "Why? There is no one else, is there?" "No, yes, that is----" "Some one else! But, Nancy----" "No, there is no one else." "Then, Nancy, promise me something. Give me an inkling of hope." She shook her head. "But why?" "Because--because it would not be fair to you." "Anything would be fair to me if you'd give me some hope." "Even if I could only offer you half my heart?" "Give me half, and I'd quickly gain the rest," laughed Trevanion. "Why, why, I should be in heaven if you could say even so much." "Do you care so much?" and there was a touch of wistfulness in her voice. "So much! Why, you know. You have been the only thing I've cared for--for months. Why, you---you are everything to me. I'm not a clever fellow, I know that--but--but--I can fight, Nancy. And it's all for you." Nancy stood still a few seconds, evidently fighting with herself. She knew she could not in honour promise even what Trevanion had asked for without telling him the truth. And this was terribly difficult. She felt that he had a right to know, and yet it was like sacrilege to tell him. "You see," went on the Captain, "your father----!" "Stop!" cried the girl; "before you say any more, I must tell you something. It's very hard, but I must. I said there was no one else, but that's not--true." "Not true! Then, then----" "There was some one else, although it's--all over." "But, but who? No, forgive me for asking. I've no right to ask. Besides, you say--that--that it's a thing of the past." "You have a right to ask if--if----"