"You think me a foolish, eccentric little woman--half mad, perhaps. Think so," she cried, "and, maybe, you are right; but, with all my weakness and folly, I love you, Richard Linnell, as a mother loves her offspring, and it is to save you from future misery that I have nerved myself to risk your displeasure, and perhaps your future notice, for I am not so vain as to think I can ever be looked upon by you as anything but what I am." There was such warmth and sincerity in her words that Richard hastily took her hands. "Forgive me," he said; "I am serious, and respect you for all this, Miss Clode." She bent down quickly and kissed his hands, making him start, and then look down on her pityingly, his wonder increasing as he saw how moved she was, her tears having fallen on the hands she kissed. "There," she cried, "I will not keep you, but I must say what I have on my mind, even if I offend you and make you angry as I did before." Richard Linnell looked at her sharply, with his eyes kindling; but, without speaking, she joined her hands together and stood before him as if pleading. Volume Three, Chapter II. MISS CLODE FEELS THAT SHE HAS DONE RIGHT. "The woman is mad," said Richard Linnell, with a pitying look, and he made a movement as if to leave, but she caught his hand. "Pray--pray stay," she whispered, "and let me--let me speak." "Well, speak," he said, in a low, angry voice, "but be careful of what you say." "It is for your sake," she whispered. "You do not know what I do. It is my lot to hear and see so much. I only want to take the veil from before your eyes." "If it is to blacken some one whom I respect--" "Whom you love, boy, with a foolish, insensate love. It is to save you from misery that I speak." "To tell me some vile scandal that I will not hear," he cried. "That you shall hear, if I die for telling you, boy," she cried, catching his wrist with both her hands. "Strike me if you like. Crush me if you will, but you shall hear the truth." "The truth--what truth, woman?" cried Richard indignantly. "The truth about--" "Hush! you shall not speak her name," cried Richard furiously. "It is enough that you know," said little Miss Clode quickly. "Boy, boy, place your affection elsewhere, and not upon a woman who is about to elope to-night." "It is not true," he cried furiously, "and I am a weak fool to stay and listen to such calumnies." "It is true," said Miss Clode; "and it was to save you from the misery of discovering all this that I made up my mind to tell you." "To have the pleasure of retailing this wretched scandal," he retorted scornfully. "Woman, you disgrace your sex by calumniating a sweet, pure woman." "It was to save you agony and despair," she said piteously. "You might never have known of this. People work so slyly, and in such secrecy; and if you only knew how jealous I am of your future, you would not speak and look at me so cruelly as you do."