I followed him languidly with wandering thoughts. Gradually, however, I grew interested and listened with increased attention to his animated description of the homes and haunts of the wonders by which he was surrounded. He had visited many climes, and gathered each strange flower and plant he had seen in its native clime. He became eloquent and genial as he described the strange habits and peculiarities of his floral companions, which he seemed to regard as a species of humanity; to him they were not inanimate existences--creations--but objects endowed with soul and sensation. While we were thus conversing, Mary announced that breakfast was ready, and I reluctantly accompanied him to the library. He almost compelled me to eat, selecting for me dainty morsels to tempt my appetite. Mr. Bristed evidently labored under some mental disquiet, which he evinced by undue efforts at cheerfulness. Breakfast being removed I sought to withdraw from the room, but he requested me to remain, and dismissing Mary, seated himself in an easy chair next the ottoman on which I rested, and warming his hands over the fire, his eyes bent upon the blaze, said, with an abruptness that was natural to him: “I am not accustomed to concern myself about strangers, Miss Reef, but in you I have felt a peculiar interest since the day we first met. You will remember I warned you then that you were too young for the responsibility which I foresaw awaited you. I feared at that time that Richard, on seeing so bright a flower, would endeavor to snatch it from its stem. My fears have been realized; you see I am acquainted with what has taken place, and now the hour has come when you and I must part.” “Oh no,” cried I gaspingly, “not yet, not yet.” “Miss Reef,” he demanded solemnly, “why will you delay? I understand what you would say; you desire to see Richard again, but that can never be; you have looked your last upon him in this life. I know his magnetic influence over you; once again under that influence you are lost!” I did not like what he said. He overstepped the bounds of courtesy, I thought. The warning which Richard had given me against him revived in force and I recoiled from him, saying: “Sir, your brother is my friend; I can listen to nothing in his disfavor.” He sighed, “Ah, Agnes, you are but a child. The sun just rising above yonder horizon must soon be darkened; I see the gathering cloud and would warn you of the approaching storm. Why will you turn from me when I desire to help you?” His musical voice was so sympathetic that it moved me deeply; but I shook my head and answered passionately, “I cannot trust you. You wrong him, and would compel me to wrong him too.” “My child,” said he sadly, “I had hoped to have saved you from further anguish, but perhaps it is best that you should know all. Come with me.” He opened the door and led me to a room on the opposite side of the hall. I knew it to be the room where Herbert slept.