"I have done my duty. The
rest is with Providence. If in your blind obstinacy you disregard my
warning, I cannot help it. Will you, for your own sake, not for mine,
let me see you to-morrow; or will you promise to see anyone who shall
ask to see you, in the name of the gipsy woman who was here to-night?
Promise me this, I entreat you. I have nothing to ask of you, nothing
to gain by my prayer; but I do entreat you most earnestly to do this
thing. I am working in the dark to a certain extent. I know something,
but not all, and I may have learned much more by to-morrow. I may bring
or send you information then, which will convince you I am speaking the
truth. Stay, will you promise me this, for my sake, for the sake of
justice? You will, Mr. Dale, I know you will; you are a just, a good
man. You suspect me of practising upon you a vulgar imposition. To-
morrow I may have the power of convincing you that I have not done so.
You will give me the opportunity, Mr. Dale?"
The pleading, earnest voice, the mournful, dark eyes, stirred Lionel
Dale's heart strangely. An impulse moved him towards trust in this
woman, this outcast,--curiosity even impelled him to ask her, in such
terms as would ensure her compliance, for a full explanation of her
mysterious conduct. But he checked the impulse, he silenced the
promptings of curiosity, sacrificing them to his ever-present sense of
his professional and personal dignity.
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