that. It is a shame to doubt that I love
you!"

"Is it? Ever since I have been here, I have doubted that you love me. It
is getting to be an old complaint of mine now. I still suffer a little
sometimes. Don't notice it!"

He was so cruel and so unjust, that I got up to leave him, without saying
a word more. But, oh! he looked so forlorn and so submissive--sitting
with his head down, and his hands crossed listlessly over his knees--that
I could not find it in my heart to treat him harshly. Was I wrong? I
don't know! I have no idea how to manage men--and no Madame Pratolungo
now to teach me. Right or wrong, it ended in my sitting down by him again
in the place which I had just left.

"You ought to beg my pardon," I said, "for thinking of me as you think,
and talking to me as you talk."

"I do beg your pardon," he answered humbly. "I am sorry if I have
offended you."

How could I resist that? I put my hand on his shoulder, and tried to make
him lift up his head and look at me.

"You will always believe in me in the future?" I went on. "Promise me
that."

"I can promise to try, Lucilla. As things are now I can promise no more."

"As things are now? You are speaking in riddles to-night. Explain
yourself."

"I explained myself this morning on the pier."

Surely, this was hard on me--after he had promised to give me till the
end of the week to consider his proposal? I took my hand off his
shoulder. He--who never used to displease or disappoint me when I was
blind--had displeased and disappointed me for the second time in a few
minutes!

"Do you wish to force me?" I asked, "after telling me this morning that
you would give me time to reflect?"

He rose, on his side--languidly and mechanically, like a man who neither
knew nor cared what he was doing.

"Force you?" he repeated. "Did I say that? I don't know what I am talking
about; I don't know what I am doing. You are right and I am wrong. I am a
miserable wretch, Lucilla--I am utterly unworthy of you. It would be
better for you if you never saw me again!" He paused; and taking me by
both hands, looked earnestly and sadly into my face. "Good night, my
dear!" he said--and suddenly dropped my hands, and turned away to go out.

I stopped him. "Going already?" I said. "It is not late yet.

"It is best for me to go."

"Why?"

"I am in wretched spirits. It is better for me to be by myself."

"Don't say that! It sounds like a reproach to me."

"On the contrary