They left her to dress accordingly, but still with some anxiety and apprehension, and Mamma waited for Marian in her own room, while Agnes went down to the parlour--just in time, for as she took her seat, Louis, flushed and impatient, burst in at the door. Louis made a most hasty salutation, and was a great deal too eager and hurried to be very well bred. He looked round the room with sudden anxiety and disappointment. “Where is she?--I must see Marian,” cried Louis. “What! you do not mean to say she is ill, after last night?” “Not ill, but in her own room,” said Agnes, somewhat confused by the question. “I will wait as long as you please, if I must wait,” said Louis impatiently; “but, Agnes! why should you be against me? Of course, I forget myself; do you grudge that I should? I forget everything except last night; let me see Marian. I promise you I will not distress her, and if she bids me, I will go away.” “No, it is not that,” said Agnes with hesitation; “but, Louis, nothing happened last night--pray do not think of it. Well, then,” she said earnestly, as his hasty gesture denied what she said, “mamma begs you, Louis, not to say anything to-day.” He turned round upon her with a blank but haughty look. “I understand--my disgrace must not come here,” he said; “but _she_ did not mind it; she, the purest lily upon earth! Ah! so that was a dream, was it? And her mother--her mother says I am to go away?” “No, indeed--no,” said Agnes, almost crying. “No, Louis, you know better; do not misunderstand us. She is so young, so gentle, and tender. Mamma only asked, for all our sakes, if you would consent not to say anything _now_.” To this softened form of entreaty the eager young man paid not the slightest attention. He began to use the most unblushing cajolery to win over poor Agnes. It did not seem to be Louis; so entirely changed was his demeanour. It was only an extremely eager and persevering specimen of the genus “lover,” without any personal individuality at all. “What! not say anything? Could anybody ask such a sacrifice?” cried this wilful and impetuous youth. “It might, as you say, be nothing at all, though it seems life--existence, to me. Not know whether that hand is mine or another’s--that hand which saved me, perhaps from murder?--for he is an old man, though he is a fiend incarnate, and I might have killed him where he stood.” “Louis! Louis!” cried Agnes, gazing at him in terror and excitement. He grew suddenly calm as he caught her eye. “It is quite true,” he said with a grave and solemn calmness. “This man, who has cursed my life, and made it miserable--this man, who dared insult me before _her_ and you--do you think I could have been a man, and still have borne that intolerable crown of wrong?”