There was such deep entreaty in her voice that it touched me to the heart, and I drew away from her immediately, saying:-- "I do know there can be nothing honest between us, Betty, and knowing it, have suffered. What I have said to you is little compared to what I feel and to what I would say. I can't help it that I love you, Betty, but you shall never have cause to fear me. Do you believe me and do you trust me, Betty?" For answer she held up her lips to me. What she had refused on my request, she gave of her own accord, saying:-- "There, Baron Ned. Now, if you really respect me, you will know that I trust you, for I am not a girl to do this thing wantonly. Perhaps I should not have done it at all, but you must know that I could not help it. If you care for my friendship or are concerned for my happiness, I beg you never tempt me to repeat my folly. There is no other man, but now you must know after what I have done, that there is one--yourself. But there can be nothing but friendship between us, Baron Ned, and oh, that is so much to me! Let me have what happiness I can find in it!" "But I love you, Betty, and I know that you love me," I answered, unable to restrain my tongue. She did not speak, so I asked, "Do you not, Betty?" "No," she answered, shaking her head dolefully. But I knew she did not tell the truth. Presently she asked. "Do you want to see Master Hamilton?" I answered that I did, and she said I might go to the printing shop, where she was sure I should find him. She rose and started toward the door. I called to her, but she did not stop, so I ran after her, saying:-- "Have I offended you, Betty?" "No," she answered, drooping her head. "But I am very unhappy, and I want to be alone so that I may cry. You know it is much harder to forego the thing one wants but may not take, than it is to do without the thing one wants but cannot take. Yearning for the impossible brings longing, for the possible anguish." And I remained silent, almost hating myself. I went to the tap-room with Betty, and the courtyard being vacant for a moment, I ran across and down the steps to see Hamilton. I had tried to see Frances that morning at Whitehall, but failed, being told that she had gone to visit her father. I had stopped at Sir Richard's house, but Frances was not there, and I half suspected I might find her with Hamilton. I found Hamilton at his printing-press, and after I had told him of the risk he ran by remaining in London, he said:--