Anne resolved that the next day she should, she must tell Frederick of the impossibility of their engagement. However, when she saw him next (again he was conveniently walking near her house as they had arranged he would now do every day, and she went to join him, needing no stealth or excuse as no one she lived with had any particular desire to inquire as to where she was going or what she was doing; Mary being the only one who might normally do so for her own selfish purposes of desiring to be tended to during her current cold was still sleeping or pretending to sleep), her resolve faded away. She thought to herself, I must have more time with Frederick, to memorize a little further the shape of his smile, the way he looks at me, the feel of his presence. I must have these small crumbs to feed on during a lifetime of loneliness.

On this occasion she took no pleasure in his eloquent discussion of their future, knowing as she did that it was all to come to naught. She was far more quiet than her usual wont which is to say that beyond her initial greeting rather than contributing occasionally she was entirely silent.

Frederick noticed this behavior on her part but did not know what to attribute it to, besides her father specifically denying to Anne what he had only vigorously discouraged to himself. Therefore, he resolved that she simply needed to be encouraged as to the firmness of their plans, which is why he kept talking of their future.

Finally the discussion of what was not to be was too much for Anne, all her agony in this loss demanded she speak. Almost as if she was watching someone else, her body performed the action of separating itself from him when she released his arm (the arm that had previously delighted her to simply grasp, to feel through the layers of her glove, his coat and shirt, whose release left her hand empty, bereft). As she let it go she thought, this is the last time I shall hold his arm, all intimacies are now at an end.

She turned to him and said simply, gently, "Stop."

Frederick was confused. He halted walking, thinking that was what she was wanting, but in looking in her beloved face and sad eyes, he knew it was not. In an instant of insight he knew something terrible was about to happen. It was the same insight he had sometimes when aboard a ship. Somehow his mind could read an entire situation and grasp the one thing that was off that portended disaster: an improperly tied rope about to slip, the presence of an enemy ship communicated through a change of activity in circling birds, the argument about to break out between crew mates which might result in one of their deaths if not prevented. Depending upon what was wrong, sometimes it could be remedied before the bad thing happened, or if not remedied its effects minimized.

Thus Frederick's tongue of its own account told her preemptively, "I shall not give you up."

This was apparently the wrong thing to say as Anne burst into tears that neither she nor Frederick expected at that moment.

When the first torrent died down a little and been mopped away with one of her gloves, she answered, "You must. I will not be the cause of you exercising the caution due a bridegroom so that he may return for his bride, which shall prevent your success in your chosen occupation. The time we have known each other is too brief for a deep attachment and I will not obligate you to return to satisfy your honor alone."

Even as Anne's mouth said these words, she felt a wrongness in them. They were Lady Russell's words, save for the changes necessitated by Anne speaking to Frederick, rather than Lady Russell speaking to Anne.

"How can you diminish what we have?" Frederick questioned, "How can you doubt the strength of my love? I would give up everything for you!"

He believed those words when he said them, though a small part of him said that it was his destiny to return to the sea, to earn the true appellation of "captain" rather than the honorary one he would receive from his first crew on a non-commissioned ship, and that if she had asked him to give up his profession for her, he might not. Though of course there was no other occupation he could take up, and if he gave up life in the navy he would not be able to afford to marry her. He might currently have a home with his brother, but this was only by grace.

"Then give me up, as this is what I ask of you."

Anne's words had a logic to her, even as they tore her up inside. She did not know how she was even able to remain standing, to not collapse in a heap right there, to not suffer an apoplectic fit and die from the agony she felt. However, the most visible outward sign of all she was feeling was that she could not meet his gaze and her face turned downward toward the ground.

Frederick would not let her eyes avoid his own. With gentle tenderness he placed one finger under her chin and drew it upward. At first Anne's eyes remained downcast, but eventually she met his eyes with hers as his finger glided away.

"How can you ask this of me?" He asked, his voice raw and cracking with emotion.

"I ask it of you because I love you and I want only the best for you."

Though Frederick had talked of love when he asked Anne to be his wife, and he was certain she returned his love based on every action and look from her, they both realized that this was the first time that she had spoken of that love aloud, and what an awful way it was for her to have done so, to both grant his deepest desire (apart from being married to her and continuing the physical expression of that love that they shared beyond those passionate kisses outside the ball) and simultaneously tear it asunder.

An appropriate answer, formed from bitterness and agony, sprung from his lips.

"If you loved me you would never let me go. You have used me quite ill to pretend affection and then at the first sign of opposition to send me away."

Almost without his own volition, he turned away from her and toward his brother's home.

It took all of Anne's self control not to yell out after him, do not go. A small part of her felt (though the larger part of her felt all the impracticability of this irrational desire of hers) that if he really loved her that instead of departing he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her in full view of anyone passing by, might brand her as his through whatever actions could follow kissing, and she would let him, give him anything he wanted, let him overwhelm all her opposition, if only he would truly not let her give him up.

Instead, when he was well and truly gone, she said to herself and the breeze, "When you have made your fortune, come back to me, please!" Those words kept echoing in her mind as she took the few steps necessary to take her inside. When she reached her chambers she took her journal out and wrote down those words.