‘Oh, how can I, how can I? Mr. Meredith, it is not possible. I must bear it. It was not our fault. I will tell them everything, and--I will go home.’ ‘Yes, darling, with your husband. What does it matter this month or next. You have promised me one way or the other. There is no harm in getting married,’ he said, with a breathless eagerness in his voice. ‘Is it not by far the best thing? And then all will be settled at once.’ ‘No, not that!’ she said, breathless too with excitement. ‘But if you will go to the House and tell Sister Mary Jane everything--you must tell her everything----’ ‘I will,’ he said fervently. ‘Surely you may trust me. And I will bring her to you in the afternoon. Everything shall be right. Now go, my dearest, and rest, and don’t worry yourself. I will take all the blame upon myself.’ ‘The blame was mine too,’ she said, gravely. She strained her eyes through the darkness to see his face. Was he taking it with levity--was he unaware of the terrible, terrible seriousness of the whole business? She could not bear the idea that it was anything less than tragic to him too. ‘No, I cannot allow that. It was my folly, my thoughtlessness. But could I be expected to think to-day? I can’t even say good-night to you, darling. Promise me to sleep, and not to worry yourself with thinking. By six o’clock I shall be off to set all right.’ ‘To bring the Sister?’ she said, casting a soft look back at him. ‘I shall be very, very grateful. Good-night.’ ‘Good-night,’ he said. He stood in the little hall and watched her going upstairs, her slight little figure drooping in its black drapery, the cheerful landlady preceding her with a light. What a revolution since the morning! Then she had been a kind of divinity worshipped at a distance, now she was his; and not only his, but already dependent upon him, absolutely in his hands. To do Oswald justice, this consciousness only increased the touch of reverence which had always mingled with his love. She was not a girl like other girls, though, indeed, full of levity and carelessness as he was, Oswald had never been disrespectful even of those ‘other girls,’ who were not to be mentioned in the same breath with Agnes. She was by herself; there was no one like her. Even in this indiscretion which she had committed--and though it was entirely his fault yet it could not be denied that it was an indiscretion--what a delicate veil of maidenly reserve had been about her! Still like one of Perugino’s angels just touching earth, ready to fly if exposed to a look or word less exquisite than her own purity. This was how he thought of her, and it is well for all parties when young lovers think so; though not the wildest extravagance of ‘fastness’ could be worse than what Agnes thought of it in the silence of the little room upstairs where she had already fallen down upon her knees by the bed, crying her heart out, her face hidden in an anguish of shame. Oswald’s feelings were less acute.