“With my warranty,” continued Foxwell, “that neither my friends, nor myself, nor my servants shall pursue you, or give information against you, or in any manner hinder your departure from this country—” “Sir,” Everell broke in, “I should be an ingrate not to be moved by such generosity—you are worthy to be her kinsman!—” “Upon the single condition—” went on Foxwell, without any change of manner. “Ah, yes; conditions are but reasonable,” said Everell. “The single condition,” said Foxwell, “that you will never again, during the whole length of your life, see or communicate with my niece:—and for this you will give me your word of honour.” “Never—see her—again?” said Everell, faintly, gazing at Foxwell as if unsure of having heard aright. “Upon your word of honour,” replied Foxwell, who did not alter either his attitude of easy grace nor his tone of courteous nonchalance during the interview; “but, indeed, as a part of the condition, you will leave this neighbourhood at once. That will be for the comfort of all of us concerned, as well as for your own safety. If, after twenty-four hours, you are seen hereabouts, or in this county, I shall be freed of my obligation: in that event, beware of Jeremiah Filson and the justice’s men. And, in the meantime, my niece will be inaccessible. I will make it my care to see that she is soon married, so there will be no hope for you in that quarter. But as the old ballad says that love will find out the way,—though I greatly doubt the possibility in this case,—I must, nevertheless, make doubly sure by requiring, as I have said, your word of honour that you will never of your own intention see or address her, directly or indirectly, in this world. That is all, I think.” “It is too much that you ask!” cried Everell. “Your condition is too hard—I can’t accept it—no, sir, I cannot.” “Yet if I hand you over to the law straightway,” said Foxwell, quietly, “you will not see her again.” “There will still be the possibility of escape,” replied Everell; “there will be no binding word of honour. But go free without _one_ hope of ever meeting her again?—no, make the condition something else, I beg you, sir; or hand me over to the law, and let me retain my right of escape.” Lady Strange’s eyes shone with applause, but Rashleigh and Mrs. Winter waited for the scene to continue. After a moment’s silence, Foxwell began anew: “Well, sir, I must congratulate my niece upon your devotion. Rather than give her up for ever, you will risk death. You hazard all upon your chance of escape. ’Tis a slight chance enough: that you will own.” “No doubt,” replied Everell, in a faltering voice; “but ’tis something.” “Suppose it fails you. Then, in losing your life, you lose the lady, too. Your chance of seeing her again is even smaller than the small chance of your escape: you may be sure that special precautions will be taken with you—such that your chance will be hardly worth calling by that name.”