Throughout this speech Julia’s hands had been moving rapidly, but with unfailing purpose, though they trembled a little all the while. One by one she had unfastened the diamond ornaments that had glittered upon her head and wrists, her throat and bosom; and now the jewels lay in a little heap at the feet of Francis Tredethlyn. One by one she had thrown them there during that passionate speech. She _could_ not act her play out. She had been unable to support the character she had undertaken. The fiery blood of the Ryan O’Brien Desmond had asserted itself in spite of all the promptings of prudence, all the bitter schooling of experience. It was very dreadful to be poor and dependent; it would have been delightful to be mistress of thirty thousand a year: but Julia Desmond, coming to the threshold of the study, had heard Maude’s appeal for the twenty thousand pounds, and Francis Tredethlyn’s impassioned avowal; and patience and policy had alike deserted her. Carried away by the impulse of the moment, she renounced everything. At last Francis Tredethlyn spoke for himself. “I know that I have acted very badly,” he said. “I had no right to speak; I never should have spoken but for that play. I think I must have almost fancied myself that poor gardener’s son, who dared to worship the brightest creature that ever crossed his pathway, and in an evil hour told her of his madness. Ah, forgive me, Miss Hillary; do not hate or despise me for what I said just now; let it pass like the play in which we acted to-night. And you, Julia--Miss Desmond, I am not too proud to ask your forgiveness for the wrong I have done you. I have been very guilty, and I accept your reproaches in all their bitterness. But when I promised to be your true and faithful husband, I only made a promise that I am still prepared to fulfil. You will at least do me the justice to remember that I did not profess any warmer feeling than admiration and esteem.” “Your justification is only a new insult, Mr. Tredethlyn,” Julia answered, coldly. “I wish you good night.” Her passion had been something terrible in its suppressed vehemence some moments before; but she was quite calm now. She swept towards the door leading out into the corridor; but as she passed the merchant’s daughter, she stopped, just long enough to utter one brief sentence close in the young lady’s ear. “You shall suffer for this, Miss Hillary,” she said,-- She left the room; but Maude followed her, crying “Julia! Julia!” She hurried along the corridor and up the staircase, following closely upon Miss Desmond; but when she reached that young lady’s room, the door was shut in her face, and only one answer came to her almost piteous pleadings for admission,-- “I have nothing to say to you, Miss Hillary. I only regret that I must pass one more night in this house.”