he would not become a villain. But
now it had come to that with him, that he would have given all that he
had in the world that he had never gone to Stratton. He sat down by her
in silence, looking away from her at the fire, swearing to himself that
he would not become a villain, and yet wishing, almost wishing, that he
had the courage to throw his honor overboard. At last, half turning
round toward her, he took her hand, or rather took her arm by the wrist
till he could possess himself of her hand. As he did so he touched her
hair and her cheek, and she let her hand drop till it rested in his.
"Julia," he said, "what can I do to comfort you?" She did not answer
him, but looked away from him as she sat, across the table into vacancy.
"Julia," he said again, "is there anything that will comfort you?" But
still she did not answer him.

He understood it all as well as the reader will understand it. He knew
how it was with her, and was aware that he was at that instant false
almost equally to her and to Florence. He knew that the question he had
asked was one to which there could be made a true and satisfactory
answer, but that his safety lay in the fact that that answer was all but
impossible for her to give. Could she say, "Yes, you can comfort me.
Tell me that you yet love me, and I will be comforted?" But he had not
designed to bring her into such difficulty as this. He had not intended
to be cruel. He had drifted into treachery unawares, and was torturing
her, not because he was wicked, but because he was weak. He had held her
hand now for some minute or two, but still she did not speak to him.
Then he raised it and pressed it warmly to his lips.

"No, Harry," she said, jumping from her seat and drawing her hand
rapidly from him; "no; it shall not be like that. Let it be Lady Ongar
again if the sound of the other name brings back too closely the memory
of other days. Let it be Lady Ongar again. I can understand that it will
be better." As she spoke she walked away from him across the room, and
he followed her.

"Are you angry?" he asked her.

"No, Harry; not angry. How should I be angry with you who alone are left
to me of my old friends? But, Harry, you must think for me, and spare me
in my difficulty."

"Spare you, Julia?"

"Yes, Harry, spare me; you must be good to me and considerate, and make
yourself like a brother to me. But people will know you are not a
brother, and you must remember all that for my sake