"I fear you are sorry you came," said Giles, "and that you think I should have advised you more firmly than I did not to stay." "Oh no, dear, dear friend," answered Grace, with a heaving bosom.
"Don't think that that is what I regret.

What I regret is my enforced treatment of you--dislodging you, excluding you from your own house.
Why should I not speak out?
You know what I feel for you--what I have felt for no other living man, what I shall never feel for a man again! But as I have vowed myself to somebody else than you, and cannot be released, I must behave as I do behave, and keep that vow.

I am not bound to him by any divine law, after what he has done; but I have promised, and I will pay." The rest of the evening was passed in his handing her such things as she would require the next day, and casual remarks thereupon, an occupation which diverted her mind to some degree from pathetic views of her attitude towards him, and of her life in general.

The only infringement--if infringement it could be called--of his predetermined bearing towards her was an involuntary pressing of her hand to his lips when she put it through the casement to bid him good-night.

He knew she was weeping, though he could not see her tears.
She again entreated his forgiveness for so selfishly appropriating the cottage.