I turned to the house. He quietly put my arm within his. "Suffer it to be so for an instant, Anne; you are trembling still." And so we went on thus. "What was it I heard you say to Mrs. Penn about quitting Chandos?" "I think the time has come for me to quit it. If the Misses Barlieu can receive me, I shall go to them. I have written to ask." "That's the letter you have been so far to post! Were you afraid I should intercept it?—as mine was intercepted!" "Not that. I thought the walk would be pleasant." "Rather too late a one, nevertheless!" I did not tell him I had wasted my time in it, picking ferns, eating blackberries, thinking, and finally losing my way. "What's this?" said Mr. Chandos. He alluded to the handful of ferns I carried, and without ceremony took one of the best sprays and put it in his coat "as a keepsake." "If you are to leave, Anne, I must have something to remind me of you—you know!" There was a light sound in his voice, which seemed to say he treated the notion of my leaving as a jest; as if he knew I should not go. "I _shall_ leave, Mr. Chandos!" "Not just yet, at any rate. Madame de Mellissie left you with us, and to her only can we resign you!" "I have written to Madame de Mellissie also, telling her I now take my plans upon myself." "Oh, been posting that letter also, I suppose! Go you must not, Anne; I cannot part with you." Every right feeling within me rose in rebellion against the avowal, and I strove to withdraw my arm, but my strength was as nothing in his firm grasp. "I cannot part with you, I say; it would be like parting with life. These last few days—when we have been living in estrangement—have sufficed to show me what it would be were you to be away entirely. And so——" "But you know you ought not to say this to me, Mr. Chandos!" I interrupted, speaking passionately and through my blinding tears. "It is unworthy of you. What have I done that you should so insult me?" "Listen to me for a minute, Anne. I have been weighing things calmly and dispassionately; it has been my employment since the night of the explanation, when you told me you had become cognizant of preventing circumstances. I have endeavoured to judge unselfishly, as though the interest lay with another—not with myself; and I confess I cannot see any good reason why you should not become my wife. I mean, of course, later; when difficulties that exist now shall be removed from my path." It was strangely unaccountable to hear him speak in this manner. I had always deemed him to be of a most honourable nature, one to whom the bare allusion of anything not good and perfect and upright, would be distasteful. Before I knew of existing circumstances, it had been bad enough to speak to me of love; but now—— Whether he had taken my silence for acquiescence I know not; I suppose there can be no doubt of it; but he suddenly bent his head and left some kisses on my face. Was he insane, or only a bad man?