it. God help me. What evil comes
when evil has been done. But, Harry, I understand you now, and I at
least will blame you no more. Go and see Florence Burton; and if when
you see her, you find that you can love her, take her to your heart, and
be true to her. You shall never hear another reproach from me. Go now,
go; there is nothing more to be said."

He paused a moment as though he were going to speak, but he left the
room without another word. As he went along the passage and turned on
the stairs he saw her standing at the door of the room, looking at him,
and it seemed that her eyes were imploring him to be true to her in
spite of the words that she had spoken. "And I will be true to her," he
said to himself. "She was the first that I ever loved, and I will be
true to her."

He went out, and for an hour or two wandered about the town, hardly
knowing whither his steps were taking him. There had been a tragic
seriousness in what had occurred to him this evening, which seemed to
cover him with care, and make him feel that his youth was gone from him.
At any former period of his life his ears would have tingled with pride
to hear such a woman as Lady Ongar speak of her love for him in such
terms as she had used; but there was no room now for pride in his bosom.
Now at least he thought nothing of her wealth or rank. He thought of her
as a woman between whom and himself there existed so strong a passion as
to make it impossible that he should marry another, even though his duty
plainly required it. The grace and graciousness of his life were over;
but love still remained to him, and of that he must make the most. All
others whom he regarded would revile him, and now he must live for this
woman alone. She had said that she had injured him. Yes, indeed, she had
injured him! She had robbed him of his high character, of his unclouded
brow, of that self-pride which had so often told him that he was living
a life without reproach among men. She had brought him to a state in
which misery must be his bedfellow, and disgrace his companion; but
still she loved him, and to that love he would be true.

And as to Florence Burton--how was he to settle matters with her? That
letter for which he had been preparing the words as he went to Bolton
Street, before the necessity for it had become irrevocable, did not now
appear to him to be very easy. At any rate he did not attempt it on that
night.

Chapter XXX

The Man Who Dusted