"Anne, I have not understood you these last few days." The address took me by surprise, for there had been a long silence. He did not raise his eyes to mine as he spoke, but kept them on the walnuts. "Have you not, sir?" "What could have induced you to intrude into the west wing, to-day? Pardon the word, if it grates upon your ear; that part of Chandos House is _private_; private and sacred; known to be so by all inmates; and, for any one to enter unsolicited, is an intrusion." "I am sorry that I went in—very sorry; no one can repent of it now more than I do; but I had an urgent motive for wishing to see Lady Chandos. I wish to see her still, if possible; I do not like to quit Chandos without it." "You are not going to quit Chandos?" "I leave to-morrow, if it be practicable. If not, the next day." "No," he said; "it must not be. I act for my mother, and refuse her sanction." Too vexed to answer, too vexed to remain at table, I rose and went to the fire, standing with my back to him. "What has changed you?" he abruptly asked. "Changed me?" "For some days now you have been unlike yourself. Why visit upon me the sins of another? I suffer sufficiently as it is; I suffer always." I could not understand the speech any more than if it had been Greek, and glanced to him for explanation. "I look back on my past conduct, and cannot see that I am to blame. We were thrown together by circumstances; and if love stole unconsciously over us, it was neither my fault nor yours. I was wrong, you will say, to avow this love; I believe I was; it might have been better that I had held my tongue. But——" "It would be better that you should hold it now, sir. I do not wish to enter upon any explanation. Quit your house, I will. Lady Chandos, were she made acquainted with what has passed, would be the first to send me from it." Mr. Chandos rose and stood up by me. "Am I to understand that you wish to quit it because I have spoken of this love?" "Yes; and because—because it is no longer a fit residence for me." "Do you wish to imply that under no circumstances—that is, with any barrier that may exist now against my marrying removed—would you accept my love?" The hot tears came into my eyes. Scarcely could I keep them from raining down. "I wish to imply—to say—that not under any alteration of circumstances that the world can bring about, would I accept your love, Mr. Chandos. The very fact of your naming it to me is an insult." Ah, me! and how passionately was I loving him in my heart all the time, even as I spoke it. "Very well. In that case it may be better that you quit Chandos. Should Miss Barlieu's answer prove favourable—I mean, if she assures you that danger from the fever is past—you shall be conveyed thither under proper escort." "Thank you," I interrupted, feeling, I do believe, not half as grateful as I ought.