I want you to see Morton
and"--
"I can't," said Jasper, in a voice of intense calmness (she could
imagine him giving an order in just that tone, when life or death hung
on the proper execution of it), "I--must go. You--you're sure you know
your mind?"
"Yes, sure."
He picked up his hat,--she noticed it was a silk tile, and thought
vaguely how incongruous it looked upon him, though she was used to
little else among the students,--and jammed it absently down on his
head, as he was accustomed to fasten on his tarpaulin during a storm.
"Good-by" he said hoarsely, turning towards the door.
She stepped towards him.
"Jasper, wait!"
He obeyed--but reluctantly.
"I beg of you, don't let this make you feel hard towards us all. I have
depended on your goodness all my life--don't let it fail me now!"
She held out her hand with that look which few could resist, a look of
winning trustfulness words cannot describe. Jasper hesitated, turned,
looked into her face--and yielded.
"Sairay," he said, grasping her hand closely, "it's no use; you always
did have your way, and you always will! I'll be anything to you that you
want me to be, but--it's bitter hard luck!" and, wringing her hand till
it ached, he left her.
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