upon me any conditions you choose. As far
as that is concerned, let me tell you plainly that you may do what
you choose, and either go on this errand or stay. In any case, by no
possibility, will I make any promise whatever."

This Hilda said quickly, and in her usual scorn. She thought that
such indifference might bring Gualtier to terms, and make him decide
to obey her without extorting this promise. For a moment she thought
that she had succeeded. At her words a change came over Gualtier's
face. He looked humbled and sad. As she ceased, he turned his eyes
imploringly to her, and said:

"Lady Chetwynde, do not say that. I entreat you to give me this
promise."

"I will not!" said Hilda, sharply.

"Once more I entreat you," said Gualtier, more earnestly.

"Once more I refuse," said Hilda. "Go and do this thing first, and
then come and ask me."

"Will you _then_ promise me?"

"I will tell you nothing now."

"Lady Chetwynde, for the last time I _implore_ you to give me some
ground for hope at least. Tell me--if this thing be accomplished,
will you give me what I want?"

"I will make no engagement whatever," said Hilda, coldly.

Gualtier at this seemed to raise himself at once above his dejection,
his humility, and his prayerful attitude, to a new and stronger
assertion of himself.

"Very well," said he, gravely and sternly. "Now listen to me, Lady
Chetwynde. I will no longer entreat--I insist that you give me this
promise."

"Insist!"

Nothing can describe the scorn and contempt of Hilda's tone as she
uttered this word.

"I repeat it," said Gualtier, calmly, and with deeper emphasis. "_I_
insist that you give me your promise."

"My friend," said Hilda, contemptuously, "you do not seem to
understand our positions. This seems to me like impertinence, and,
unless you make an apology, I shall be under the very unpleasant
necessity of obtaining a new steward."

As Hilda said this she turned paler than ever with suppressed rage.

Gualtier smiled scornfully.

"It seems to me," said he, "that you are the one who does not, or
will not, understand our respective positions. You will _not_ dismiss
_me_ from the stewardship, Lady Chetwynde, for you will be too
sensible for that. You will retain me in that dignified office, for
you know that I am indispensable to you, though you seemed to deny it
a moment since. You have not forgotten the relations which we bear to
one another. There are certain memories which