At last Lady Diana, finding herself powerless with her daughter, sent a letter to Harold, beginning:  “I appeal to your generosity.”  A very cruel letter in some ways it was, representing that he had acquiesced in her judgment, that there were certain unfortunate passages in his past life which made it her painful duty to prevent her child from following the dictates of an inexperienced heart.  Then she put it to him whether it were not a most unfortunate position for a young girl to be involved in an engagement which could never be fulfilled, and which was contrary to the commands of her only remaining parent, and she showed how family peace, confidence, and maternal and filial affection must suffer if the daughter should hold fast persistently to the promise by which she held herself bound.  In fact, it was an urgent entreaty, for Viola’s own sake, that he would release her from her promise.  Dermot was shooting at Erymanth, and neither he nor I knew of this letter till Harold had acted.  He rode at once to Arked, saw Lady Diana, and declared himself convinced that the engagement, having no chance of sanction, ought to be given up.  Rather than keep Viola in the wearing state of resistance and disobedience her mother described, he would resign all hopes of her.

Lady Diana went to her daughter with the tidings, that Mr. Alison saw the hopelessness of his suit, and released her from her promise.

“You have made him do so, mamma,” cried Viola.  “If he releases me I do not release myself.”

Finally, Lady Diana, astonished to find Harold so reasonable and amenable, perceived that the only means of dealing with her daughter was to let them meet again.  Of course no one fully knows what passed then.  Harold told me, the only time he spoke of it, that “he had just taken out his own heart and crushed it!” but Viola dwelt on each phrase, and, long after, used to go over all with me.  He had fully made up his mind that to let Viola hold to her troth would neither be right nor good for her, and he used his power of will and influence to make her resign it.  There was no concealment nor denial of their mutual love.  It was Viola’s comfort to remember that.  “But,” said Harold, “your mother has only too good reasons for withholding you from me, and there is nothing for it but to submit, and give one another up.”

“But we do not leave off loving one another,” said poor Viola.

“We cannot do what we cannot.”

“And when we are old—­”

“That would be a mental reservation,” said Harold.  “There must be no mutual understanding of coming together again.  I promised your mother.  Because I am a guilty man, I am not to break up your life.”

He made her at last resign her will into his, she only feeling that his judgment could not be other than decisive, and that she could not resist him, even for his own sake.  He took her for a moment into his arms, and exchanged one long burning kiss, then, while she was almost faint and quite passive with emotion, he laid her on the sofa, and called her mother.  “Lady Diana,” he said, “we give up all claim to one another’s promise, in obedience to you.  Do we not, Viola?”