“I will do you no harm. I shall disclose nothing. I will say nothing to pain him or you. You say truly, the event is irrevocable.”
“Then I will do what you desire tomorrow morning.”
“Tonight, if possible,” said Romola, “that we may not speak of it again.”
“It is possible,” he said, moving towards the lamp, while she sat still, looking away from him with absent eyes.
Presently he came and bent down over her, to put a piece of paper into her hand.
“You will receive something in return, you are aware, my Romola?” he said, gently, not minding so much what had passed, now he was secure; and feeling able to try and propitiate her.
“Yes,” she said, taking the paper, without looking at him, “I understand.”
“And you will forgive me, my Romola, when you have had time to reflect.”
He just touched her brow with his lips, but she took no notice, and seemed really unconscious of the act.
She was aware that he unlocked the door and went out. She moved her head and listened. The great door of the court opened and shut again.
She started up as if some sudden freedom had come, and going to her father’s chair where his picture was propped, fell on her knees before it, and burst into sobs.