"I—I think I will go away," she said in a broken voice. "I am not myself; but don't think me unkind. I will come back and see you presently." He let go her hand, and she hastened from the room. She ran up to her own chamber, and, locking the door, put both her hands to her head in a bewildered way. "It has come at last," she said trembling. "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" She threw herself on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. "He loves me," she whispered; "and I must not—must not—must not let him! Oh, what shall I do?" Then she lifted her aching heart to Him who knew all its sorrow; and once more strengthened in her resolve, she got up, and bathing her swollen eyes, she went slowly downstairs again. When she re-entered the dining-room, Wilmot came forward and met her, looking anxiously in her face. "I have had a letter from Walter," she said, speaking calmly. "He sends me very unexpected news—very glad news—and that was what made me cry. He is coming home." "Your brother in India? I thought it was to be some time. You must be glad!" "He has been suddenly made a partner, and is to settle in England. It will make such a difference to us all; I can hardly believe it." "And you were crying for joy? I would like to share the joy, and also the sorrow, Nellie. Will you let me? You cannot mistake what I mean?" "You must not wish it," she answered, turning deadly pale; "I have wanted you to understand it for so long." "But why? What do you tell me so for?" "Because I must; if only you would spare my having to say any more." "It would be of no use; I must hear what you have to say. But, Nellie, I can't get on without you." How sweet the words sounded in her ears; but she resolutely shut out the thought, and answered—"They cannot do without me at home. Forgive me, Mr. Elliot; I would not cause you pain if I could possibly help it; but it can never be as you say." He started up, and stood before her. "Do you moan it?" he said hoarsely; "really mean what you say? Do you mean to tell me that you will blight my life, and perhaps yours, on a mistaken sense of duty to home?" "It is not mistaken," she answered, rallying all her firmness. "No one who knows us intimately could advise me to decide otherwise." "They would miss you," he said, sitting down again by her. "Who could help it? But it cannot be right; it cannot, Nellie." "You must not call me Nellie," she said, rising; "I must say good-bye. If you could guess the pain I feel, you would say no more; but forgive me, and leave me." "It is impossible," said the young man, turning bitterly away. "I'll leave you, if you wish it, and I will speak to your father; but to give you up utterly, I can't do it." Nellie stood still, while he went to the window and looked out. At last he came back and asked— "Do you love me, Nellie, as I love you?" Her colour flushed suddenly into her face and died out again. She was silent, but she moved away from him.