You must not go.

Why must you go?
Do not go." "Indeed I must," she said, pulling at the obnoxious broad brim of her hat; and, interpreting a pause he made for his assent to her rational resolve, shyly looking at him, she held her hand out, and said, "Good-bye," as if it were a natural thing to say.
The hand was pure white--white and fragrant as the frosted blossom of a Maynight.

It was the hand whose shadow, cast before, he had last night bent his head reverentially above, and kissed--resigning himself thereupon over to execution for payment of the penalty of such daring--by such bliss well rewarded.
He took the hand, and held it, gazing between her eyes.
"Good-bye," she said again, as frankly as she could, and at the same time slightly compressing her fingers on his in token of adieu.

It was a signal for his to close firmly upon hers.
"You will not go ?" "Pray, let me," she pleaded, her sweet brows suing in wrinkles.
"You will not go ?" Mechanically he drew the white hand nearer his thumping heart.
"I must," she faltered piteously.
"You will not go ?" "Oh yes! yes!" "Tell me.

Do you wish to go ?" The question was a subtle one.