"It is easy to say `Do not.' Do you suppose our feelings are so under control that we can master them at pleasure?" he retorted with bitterness. "You let me hope, you hold the cup almost to my lips, and then tell me not to be sorry when it is dashed away. Who has been teaching you to play fast and loose, Bice? Who has shaken your faith in your friends? When will one of them do what I have done, what I am ready to do? Has your mother told you that she has borrowed money from me to pay her debts, because she did not doubt--" He stopped. Bice had sprung up, pale, with flashing eyes. "That is not true!" she cried. "Is it not? Ask her." She looked at him as if she would pierce his soul. Alas, it is not always the most innocent souls which bear such looks without faltering! Her own eyes fell. "I will pay it," she said in a low voice. "That is folly." "I will pay it," she repeated, this time angrily. "Do so," he said after a moment's pause. And then he added, "but remember this. If your mother had had from me a hundred times as much she would not have done me as much harm as you will do me if you throw me over." Was it true? Had she indeed worked all this evil? Would it not be easier to yield as she had meant to do that morning? He was so persistent, he would not give her up. She hesitated, and then, strong and clear, Phillis's words came back--"Do not marry him if you do not love him." She looked him full in the face. "Let me pass," she said, "I can give you no other answer." He had read something of the struggle, and was bitterly disappointed, though his determined will gave up nothing of his intention. "If you write to Clive, it had better be without delay," he said. "I'll write to-morrow morning." And then she turned and put out her hand. "Thank you for letting me write, Oliver." "I dare not advise you to build upon it, but you can try," he said. "Yes, by all means try." The next morning, as Bice was passing through the hall, she met Trent. "If you have any letters for the early post," he said, "I will take them, I am going into Florence." "Oh, thank you very much. I had meant to send little 'Tista." "'Tista is wanted for the vintage, and is not an over-safe messenger. Is this all?" "All. Thank you again. That letter is a weight off my mind. I am sure he will answer it." "I fancy not, but, as I said, one can but try. Nothing more? Rest in the garden, Bice, and do not go again to the vineyards. You look tired and pale. Such walks as yesterday do you no good." "Rest!" she repeated impatiently. "You talk as if one could turn all the thoughts out of one's head whenever one liked. That might be rest." "I wish you would let me do your thinking for you."