Jarvis hesitated, studying her downcast face. “I want you to promise me,” he said slowly, “that you will not yield to the importunities of—of Whitcomb. No; don’t interrupt me. Hear me out. He will urge you to marry him—soon. He will tell you—— But you must not listen—yet. Do you hear me? You must—put him off. You must wait—till——” “I shall wait,” she said coldly, “till the man—your client—is satisfied, or paid, in full.” “Will you promise me this?” She looked him full in the eyes. “Why should I promise you?” she demanded haughtily. “I have signed a contract. I am in honor bound to stand by it. I shall keep my word—fulfil the letter of my bond; but not because you have asked me to do it.” He turned abruptly and took up his hat. “That is all I have to say to you,” he said in a business-like tone. He stopped, hesitated. “If I do not see you again——” “But you will be obliged to see me,” she objected, “—to tell me.” “No,” he said, and smiled slightly. “I shall not need to see you again; and—I may not——” He held out his hand. “Will you forgive me, Barbara?” he asked humbly. “Forgive you?” she echoed. “God knows I have need of your forgiveness. If I do not see you again—and it is quite possible that I may not. I am thinking of going away, of closing my house here. I may never return. But I want—I need to carry with me the certainty that you will sometimes think kindly of me. Not that I deserve it, but——” His eyes, dark with pain, searched her face. “I cannot bear to remember all that has passed between us. I know now that I was less than a man to threaten you—browbeat you, as I did. I hope you will believe me when I tell you I am hoping for your best—your truest, and most lasting happiness.” His voice, shaken with the solemn passion of renunciation, died into silence. She put her hand into his. “I—am sorry,” she faltered. “For what, Barbara?” he asked. She drew a deep sigh that was half a sob. “For—everything,” she said. Her mouth quivered like a grieving child’s. “And you do forgive me, Barbara?” “Yes.” He raised her fingers to his lips. “Good-bye,” he said. She heard his rapid step on the gravel without, and later the whir of wheels, faint and fainter in the distance. * * * * * Barbara did not tell David all that had passed between Jarvis and herself, when on the following day he unburdened himself of the multiplied conjecture and complaints which had occurred to him since his briefly renewed acquaintance with the lawyer. In some uncomprehended way their past had acquired a new significance in Barbara’s eyes, almost sacred in the light of Jarvis’s difficult confession. As she had, through some deep, delicate instinct, hidden her early romance from Jarvis, she now shielded from David’s scrutiny his rival’s unavailing passion and pain. David would not understand, she knew; he would laugh and toss his handsome head, secure in his own easily won triumph.