I am rude: I cannot help it.

I will not go unless you say, 'I do not love you.' Nothing but this shall drive me away." Francesca's training in her childhood had been by a Catholic governess; she never quite lost its effect.

Now she raised her hand to a little gold cross that hung at her neck, her fingers closing on it with a despairing clasp.

"Ah, Christ, have pity!" her heart cried.

"Blessed Mother of God, forgive me! have mercy upon me!" Her face was frightfully pale, but her voice did not tremble as she gave him her hand, and said gently, "Go, then, my friend.