"But I shall not be much longer. I am going away too." He sprung to his feet as if he had been stung. "What? You are going away? When?" "Very soon. In a week or ten days; perhaps not quite so soon." Already she wished she had not told him. It would have been better, for every reason, that he should have heard the news at second hand. "In a week or ten days!" he echoed. "But not for long--Yseulte, say it will not be for long!" If at times the girl had been guilty of a touch of feminine spitefulness in the reflection that she had completely subjugated--and through no artful intent--the hope of this family whom, not without reason, she detested, assuredly she felt sorry and ashamed of it now, as she noted the pitiable effect which her announcement produced upon her admirer. His face was as pale as death. "But what if it will be for long?" she answered, gently. "For months, perhaps--or a year." "Then I'll go and hang myself." Poor Geoffry! For weeks--for months--he had been anticipating such a moment as this; had revolved every kind of set speech; every form of the most moving entreaty; every promise to devote his life to her happiness and welfare; all in the most impassioned language that the earnestness of his love could suggest: and had shivered with apprehension lest his nervousness and misgiving should intervene to mar the effect and leave him stuttering and looking an ass; yet now that the critical moment had come, all his carefully-planned oratory had resolved itself into the brusque, passionate statement--"Then I'll go and hang myself." Yet never was declaration more exhaustive. She understood his meaning; she did not wish him to say more; and her tone was very gentle, very pitiful, as she replied: "Be a man." The utterly wretched expression upon his face, showed that he had understood her. Never was proposal more terse; never refusal more prompt and decisive. It was impossible for each to misunderstand the other. "Have I no chance, Yseulte?" he said, the eager trepidation of his former tone having given way to one of dull hopelessness, which moved her infinitely. "No," she answered, gently. "It would be cruel to leave you in any doubt. There are many reasons against it--insuperable reasons." "Oh, what are they? Tell me what they are," he cried, relapsing into his former tone. "They can be removed--there is nothing I will not do, or give up, for you. What are they? You don't like my people, I know; but you have always been kind and friendly with me. Surely my relations need not stand in the way?" "You must not ask me for reasons, Geoffry. Let us talk over this rationally. If I cared for you as you wish, nothing should stand in the way. But as I do not, even you would not thank me for coming between yourself and those who do. Only think what a firebrand I should be." "No, you would not. I tell you there is nothing I would not do for you--or would not give up for you. Only just try me."