“Yes, I will prevent you, and by all means in my power, short of force. _I_ know what is best for you; I am not thinking of myself,--but of you, now. You know I love you too well, Letty, to do anything that would harm you--but to allow you to escape to that life of misery, would be a crime. A crime, against your youth and your happiness; you talk of Cara, what is she but a baby of three, and you are one-and-twenty? Why is she to devour the whole of your future? She is pretty, she is a rich man’s daughter, as far as I could judge, has a strong will; the world will go well with _her_. Suppose you sacrifice yourself, will she give up her best years to you, and are _you_ to have no life of your own? As it is, you are like some beautiful flower that has been kept in a dark room till its colour has been bleached, and its vitality is perishing. If this existence continues, what will you be in twenty years?” “_Dead_, I hope,” she answered sharply, then with a flash of unexpected passion, “but dead or alive, I am going to stick to Cara.” “No you are not,” he rejoined with gathering excitement. “You are going to stick to _me_, and till death us do part.” Visibly shaken by the force of his own speech, he added hoarsely: “Letty, you have escaped from bondage, be thankful for your freedom!” “It is for you, Lancelot, to release me,” she declared, “and help me to escape from here; from a situation that will bring disgrace on me--and mine.” “Do you mean that?” he demanded fiercely, leaving his post, and coming a step nearer. “Yes, I do,” she assented with a set wooden face,--the face of a woman of double her age. “Lancelot, let me pass. If you stand in my way, and prevent my returning home I--I--swear I will never forgive you.” “If I had stood in your way four years ago, as I ought to have done--my home would be yours. If I let you pass _now_, I know, that I shall never set eyes on you again.” His handsome tanned face had taken a curious clay-coloured shade; little drops of sweat stood on his forehead. “Think again, for God’s sake!” His voice rose, vibrating with passion. “Have mercy on yourself.” “Myself! No; _I_ don’t count!” “Nor I? Letty, has it occurred to you, what an awful fool you have made of me?” It was true; she had sacrificed him as pitilessly as herself--this only struck her now. For her sake Lancelot had given up his regiment, thrown his prospects to the winds, risked the loss of his friends. “I know,” she stammered at last, “I have cost you a great deal--far, far, too much. Lancelot, I’m not _worth_ it! I am a miserable, cowardly, half-hearted creature--and now--let me go--oh _do_--I implore you, let me go!” As they stood staring into one another’s eyes, a languid gilt clock on the mantel-piece, struck eight. Lumley started, their discussion had absorbed more time than seemed possible--he moved aside and said in a muffled tone, “Well--if you must--you must!”