"Freely," he said, and spoke now with less impetuosity. "Whenever I have approached the subject of my love for you--do not stop me, Emilia; the words are spoken--whenever I have done that, you have begged me to desist. Well, I obeyed you; not for all the wide world, Emilia, would I cause you one moment's pain. But you did not tell me not to write, and so I wrote--what was in my heart, what is in it now, and I implored you to send me an answer soon. I am sure you would have done so had you received it." "I do not know. The letter never reached me." "I addressed it to the care of Mrs. Seaton." "If it was delivered to her, she did not give it to me." "It must have been delivered to her; it must have been left at her house, and to keep it from you is a crime. She shall be punished for it." "Oh, Mr. Paget, do not make things harder for me than they are already!" It was an involuntary confession, the first she had made to him, and it opened his eyes. "You are not happy with her?" he asked. She did not reply. To have admitted it would have been almost like asking protection from him. Her sensitive nature shrunk from such an indelicacy. "I must go back now," she said, presently. "I have been away too long." "I will go with you, Emilia." "I entreat you not to do so. It will subject me to further indignity." In this was conveyed a second involuntary confession; he noted it with burning indignation against Mrs. Seaton, but made no open comment upon it. "I obey you," he said, "in this as in everything else. You are suffering, and I pity you from my heart of hearts. I am also suffering. Will you not give me a little pity?" "I am very sorry for you, Mr. Paget; indeed, indeed I am. It would have been better for you had we never met." "Can you utter such a heresy--you, the soul of truth and honesty? I bless the day on which I met you; it will live forever in my memory as the happiest in my life. Give me your hand. Why do you shrink? You would give it to the commonest friend, and I am at least that. Thank you. There! I merely press it, as an ordinary friend would do--only you must feel the pulses of my heart in my fingers. That is not my fault. I cannot help it beating, and beating for you, Emilia. May I walk with you a little way?" "Not far. You will not come with me to the door?" "No, if you insist. I will leave you before we reach it." "Before we are in the street, Mr. Paget." "Yes, before we are in the street. But I give you fair warning, Emilia. I must have an answer to my letter, and I must find out what has become of it. Is not that right?" "I suppose it is." "It is not a matter of supposing. It is or it is not. Be as frank with me as I am with you, Emilia." "It is right that you should ascertain what has become of it." "Of course. It is mine or yours. No one else's. We have something that is ours, in which no other person has any business to interfere. I shall think of that with satisfaction." "A simple letter, Mr. Paget."