t. I will not endure it. He cannot make me."
And with quick steps she walked across and along the room, stretching
forth her arms as though seeking aid from some one; ay, and as though
she were prepared to fight the battle herself if no one would come to
aid her.

At this moment there was a knock at her chamber-door, and her maid
came in.

"Mr. Bertram is in the drawing-room, my lady."

"Mr. Bertram! Which Mr. Bertram?"

"Mr. Bertram, my lady; the gentleman that comes here. Sir Henry's
friend."

"Oh, very well. Why did John say that I was at home?"

"Oh, my lady, I can't say that. Only he told me to tell your ladyship
that Mr. Bertram was in the drawing-room."

Lady Harcourt paused for a moment. Then she said, "I will be down
directly;" and the Abigail retired. During that moment she had
decided that, as he was there, she would meet him yet once again.

It has been said that Bertram was unwilling to go to Sir Henry's
house. As long as he had thought of remaining in town he was so. But
now he had resolved to fly, and had resolved also that before he did
so he would call in the ordinary way and say one last farewell. John,
the servant, admitted him at once; though he had on that same morning
sent bootless away a score of other suppliants for the honour of
being admitted to Lady Harcourt's presence.

Bertram was standing with his back to the door, looking into a small
conservatory that opened from the drawing-room, when the mistress
of the house entered. She walked straight up to him, after having
carefully closed the door, and just touching his hand, she said, "Mr.
Bertram, why are you here? You should be thousands and thousands of
miles away if that were possible. Why are you here?"

"Lady Harcourt, I will divide myself from you by any distance you may
demand. But may I not come to you to tell you that I am going?"

"To tell me that you are going!"

"Yes. I shall not trouble you much longer. I have become sure of
this: that to remain near you and not to love you, to remain near
you and not to say that I love you is impossible. And therefore I
am going." And he held out his hand, which she had as yet hardly
taken--had barely touched.

He was going; but she was to remain. He would escape; but her prison
bars could not be broken. Ah, that she could have gone with him! How
little now would wealth have weighed with her; or high worldly hopes,
or dreams of ambition! To have gone with him anywhere--honestly to