"A listener!" he exclaimed; "you are afraid to be alone with me!" I was about to leave the room, but he called me back. "Stay, child!" he said; "if I can speak in _her_ presence, it makes little difference that any one else should hear me. Agnes, little Agnes, you would not like to be quite alone;--let the child stay. Yet you know already that I am faithless to you. You know what I am going to tell you. I love you, passionately, as I have always loved you. But there are other passions hold me tighter. Money, and position,--I need them,--I cannot live without them. The first I have lost already, and the claims I have to reputation will follow soon. I am mad. I am flinging away happiness for the sake of its mask. Next week I marry riches,--a fortune. With the golden lady, I go to Europe. I forsake home,--my better self. I leave you, Agnes;--and you may thank God that I do leave you; I am not worthy of you." She lifted herself from the chair on which she was leaning, and walked towards him. She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and, white and pale, looked in his face. "Do not go, Ernest!" she said. "You are mine. A promise cannot be broken;--you are promised to me.--Stay,--do not go away!" "My beautiful Agnes!" he said, "do you come to lay your pure self down in the scale against my follies and all my passions? You stand before me too fair, too lovely for me. It is only in your presence that I can appear noble enough for you. Even here, by your side, I see the life I must lead with you, the struggle that you must share. In that life you would only see me fail. I am weak; I can never be strong. Let me go down the current. Your heart will not break;--I am not worth such a sacrifice." "You are desperate," said she. "You say these cold, bitter words, and you must know that each word cuts me. Oh, Ernest, you are false, indeed, if you come to taunt me with your faithlessness!" "I needed to see you once more," he said, imperiously,--"I needed it. But you were right, Agnes,--the ring was a true talisman. It seemed to me that its letters had changed color. I carried it to an old Eastern scholar. He declared that the letters could never have formed the word 'Faith,'--that the word was some black word that meant death. I left it with him, that he might study it. When I saw him again, he declared he had lost it, and had advertised it. You see you can trust your talisman sooner than you can trust me." At this moment the outer door opened, and presently Fanny came in, with one of her friends. Miss Agnes looked bewildered, but her visitor recovered his composure directly. "Miss Fanny, I believe;--I have met you before. I have just been bidding good-bye to Miss Agnes, before leaving for Europe. Can I be of service to you?" Before we had time to think, he had said something to each one of us, and had left the house. Fanny turned to speak to Miss Agnes, but she had fallen to the ground before we could reach her.