“What do I wish?” echoed she, feeling as though some hard but firm support were about to relax from her, leaving her trembling and insecure to the world's open blasts. “I do not know--I cannot tell. Talk to me a little; that will help me to judge.” His eye brightened, though faintly. “I will speak, but you shall decide, for all lies in your own hands. I thought this right, and came here determined on telling you so.” “Well?” said Agatha, expectantly. “You promised me this hand to-day, believing I was to leave England at once. My not leaving frees you from that promise--at least at present. If you would rather wait until you know me better, or love me better, then”-- “What then?” “We will quite blot out this day--crush it--destroy it, no matter what it was to have been. We will enter upon to-morrow, not as wife and husband, but mere lovers--friends--acquaintances--anything you like. Nay--I am growing a fool again.” He put his hand to his forehead, sighed heavily, and then continued with less violence. “If this is what you wish--as from your silence I conclude it is--be assured, Agatha, that I shall consent. I will take no wife against her will. The kisses of her lips would sting me, if there were no love in her heart.” Agatha was still silent. “Well then, it must be so,” said he, in slow, measured speech. “I must go away out of this house, for I am no bridegroom. You may tell the women to put away this white finery till it is wanted--which may be--never!” She looked up questioningly. “I repeat--_never_. The currents of life, so many and so fierce, may sweep us asunder at any moment. I may become mercenary, and choose a richer wife even than yourself; or you may turn from me to some one more pleasing, more winning--my brother, perhaps”-- Agatha recoiled, while the angry blood flashed from brow to throat. Her lover saw it, and for the moment a strange intentness was in his gaze. But immediately he smiled, as a man would at some horrible phantom of his own creating, and continued with a softened manner: “Or, if our own wills hold secure, many things may happen, as Anne Valery forewarned us, to prevent our union. Even ere a month or two--for if you are ever mine it must be as soon as then--but even within that time one or other of us may have gone away where no loving, no regretting, can ever call us back any more.” Terrible was the imagined solitude of a world from which had passed the only being who cherished her--the only being whom she thoroughly honoured. Agatha drew closer to Nathanael. “Still, for all that,” continued he, striving to keep even in his mind the balance of honour and generous tenderness against the arguments of selfish passion, “if for any reason you wish to postpone this day for weeks, months, or years, I will take the chance. All shall be as you deem best for your own happiness. As for mine--I will try to be content.”