With a great sob of uttermost anguish, she put back his hands, rose from the chair, and stood apart. Wilfrid rose and gazed at her in dread. Had the last calamity of human nature fallen upon her? He looked about, as if for aid. Emily read his thoughts perfectly; they helped her to a desperate composure. 'Wilfrid,' she said, 'do I speak like one not in her perfect mind?' 'I cannot say. Your words are meaningless to me. You are not the Emily I knew.' 'I am not,' was her sad answer. 'If you can bring yourself to believe that truth, you will spare yourself and me.' 'What do you mean when you say that?' he asked, his voice intensified in suppression. 'If you are in full command of yourself, if your memory holds all the past, what can have made of you another being? We dare not play with words at a time such as this. Tell me at least one thing. Do I know what it was that caused your illness?' 'I don't understand you.' Her eyes examined him with fear. 'I mean, Emily--was it solely due to that shock you received? Or was there any previous distress?' 'Has anything led you to think there was?' she asked, urgently. 'Mrs. Baxendale tells me you--Emily, why have I to pain you in this way?' 'But tell me--tell me What did she say?' 'That on coming to yourself you did not know of your father's death.' 'It is true; I did not. My illness began before.' Wilfrid stood with his eyes on the ground. 'Tell me, again,' she said. 'What else did Mrs. Baxendale say?' 'Nothing. Her surprise when she heard this from your mother was as great as mine when it was repeated to me.' 'It is true,' Emily repeated, more calmly, as if relieved. 'I don't try to conceal that there is a reason I may not speak of. Will you not believe that it is strong enough to change my life? If I did not tell you this, you might indeed refuse to listen to me, thinking I was not myself. I cannot tell you more--I cannot, I cannot!' She pressed her palms upon her forehead; it throbbed with pain scarcely to be borne. Wilfrid, after a moment of wretched hesitation, said gravely: 'What _you_ forbid me to ask, I may not even wish to know. I have come to regard your will as the seal upon everything that is true and right. Knowing this, seeing me here before you with my best hopes at stake, do you tell me that something has happened which makes the bond between us of no effect, which lays upon you a duty superior to that of the pledge you gave me?' She met his gaze, and answered firmly, 'I do.' 'Some duty,' he continued, with quivering voice, 'compared with which the sacredness of our love is nothing?' She trembled from head to foot; then, as if clutching at a last help, said: 'I do not love you.' And she waited with her head bowed. Wilfrid, taking up his hat, went to her and offered his hand. When hers was given: 'Raise your eyes and look at me, Emily.' She did so.