“It means, love, that I’ve come to take care of you for the rest of your life and mine, if you will only let me. Don’t tremble--there’s nothing to be afraid of! Only compose yourself, and I’ll tell you why I am here in this strange disguise. Come, come, Alicia!--don’t look like that at me. You called me Frank just now, for the first time. Would you have done that, if you had disliked me or forgotten me?” I saw her color beginning to come back--the old bright glow returning to the dear dusky cheeks. If I had not seen them so near me, I might have exercised some self-control--as it was, I lost my presence of mind entirely, and kissed her. She drew herself away half-frightened, half-confused--certainly not offended, and, apparently, not very likely to faint--which was more than I could have said of her when I first entered the room. Before she had time to reflect on the peril and awkwardness of our position, I pressed the first necessary questions on her rapidly, one after the other. “Where is Mrs. Baggs?” I asked first. Mrs. Baggs was the housekeeper. Alicia pointed to the closed folding-doors. “In the front parlor; asleep on the sofa.” “Have you any suspicion who the stranger was who called more than an hour ago?” “None. The servant told him we saw no visitors, and he went away, without leaving his name.” “Have you heard from your father?” She began to turn pale again, but controlled herself bravely, and answered in a whisper: “Mrs. Baggs had a short note from him this morning. It was not dated; and it only said circumstances had happened which obliged him to leave home suddenly, and that we were to wait here till be wrote again, most likely in a few days.” “Now, Alicia,” I said, as lightly as I could, “I have the highest possible opinion of your courage, good-sense, and self-control; and I shall expect you to keep up your reputation in my eyes, while you are listening to what I have to tell you.” Saying these words, I took her by the hand and made her sit close by me; then, breaking it to her as gently and gradually as possible, I told her all that had happened at the red-brick house since the evening when she left the dinner-table, and we exchanged our parting look at the dining-room door. It was almost as great a trial to me to speak as it was to her to hear. She suffered so violently, felt such evident misery of shame and terror, while I was relating the strange events which had occurred in her absence, that I once or twice stopped in alarm, and almost repented my boldness in telling her the truth. However, fair-dealing with her, cruel as it might seem at the time, was the best and safest course for the future. How could I expect her to put all her trust in me if I began by deceiving her--if I fell into prevarications and excuses at the very outset of our renewal of intercourse? I went on desperately to the end, taking a hopeful view of the most hopeless circumstances, and making my narrative as mercifully short as possible.