The words made painful discord in her ears, but instead of showing heightened colour she grew pallid. Holding the book partly open, she felt all her nerves and muscles strained as if in some physical effort; her feet were rooted to the spot. ‘Have you heard anything from him?’ returned the old man, resting his hands on the sides of the easy-chair. ‘Father has been speaking about him. He says Mr. Kirkwood has told you something.’ ‘Yes. Come and sit down by me, Jane.’ She could not move nearer. Though unable to form a distinct conception, she felt a foreboding of what must come to pass. The dread failure of strength was more than threatening her; her heart was sinking, and by no effort of will could she summon the thoughts that should aid her against herself. ‘What has your father told you?’ Michael asked, when he perceived her distress. He spoke with a revival of energy, clearly, commandingly. ‘He says that Mr. Kirkwood wishes you to forget what he told you, and what you repeated to me.’ ‘Did he give you any reason?’ ‘Yes. I don’t understand, though.’ ‘Come here by me, Jane. Let’s talk about it quietly. Sidney doesn’t feel able to help you as he thought he could. We mustn’t blame him for that; he must judge for himself. He thinks it’ll be better if you continue to be only friends.’ Jane averted her face, his steady look being more than she could bear. For an instant a sense of uttermost shame thrilled through her, and without knowing what she did, she moved a little and laid the book down. ‘Come here, my child,’ he repeated, in a gentler voice. She approached him. ‘You feel it hard. But when you’ve thought about it a little you won’t grieve; I’m sure you won’t. Remember, your life is not to be like that of ordinary women. You’ve higher objects before you, and you’ll find a higher reward. You know that, don’t you? There’s no need for me to remind you of what we’ve talked about so often, is there? If it’s a sacrifice, you’re strong enough to face it; yes, yes, strong enough to face more than this, my Jane is! Only fix your thoughts on the work you’re going to do. It’ll take up all your life, Jane, won’t it? You’ll have no time to give to such things as occupy other women—no mind for them.’ His grey eyes searched her countenance with that horrible intensity of fanaticism which is so like the look of cruelty, of greed, of any passion originating in the baser self. Unlike too, of course, but it is the pitilessness common to both extremes that shows most strongly in an old, wrinkled visage. He had laid his hand upon her. Every word was a stab in the girl’s heart, and so dreadful became her torture, so intolerable the sense of being drawn by a fierce will away from all she desired, that at length a cry escaped her lips. She fell on her knees by him, and pleaded in a choking voice.