"How can I breathe it if I don't know what it is?" "You do know--you know what I mean." Then after an instant's pause she added: "What I did in the garden." "_What_ did you do in the garden?" "I threw myself on your neck and I sobbed--I behaved like a maniac." "Is that all you mean?" "It's what I don't want mamma to know--it's what I beseech you to keep silent about. If you don't I'll never, never go home. Have _mercy_ on me!" the poor child quavered. "Dear girl, I only want to be tender to you--to be perfect. But tell me first: has anyone acted wrongly to you?" "No one--_no_ one. I speak the truth." She looked into my eyes, and I looked far into hers. They were wild with pain and yet they were so pure that they made me confusedly believe her. I hesitated a moment; then I risked the question: "Isn't Mr. Brandon responsible for anything?" "For nothing--for nothing! Don't blame _him_!" the girl passionately cried. "He hasn't made love to you?" "Not a word--before God! Oh, it was too awful!" And with this she broke away from me, flung herself on her knees before a sofa, burying her face in it and in her arms. "Promise me, promise me, promise me!" she continued to wail. I was horribly puzzled but I was immeasurably touched. I stood looking a moment at her extravagant prostration; then I said "I'm dreadfully in the dark, but I promise." This brought her to her feet again, and again she seized my hands. "Solemnly, sacredly?" she panted. "Solemnly, sacredly." "Not a syllable--not a hint?" "Dear Louisa," I said kindly, "when I promise I perform." "You see I don't know you. And when do you go to Chantry?" "Day after to-morrow. And when do you?" "To-morrow if I can." "Then you'll see your mother first--it will be all right," I said smiling. "All right, all right!" she repeated, with her woeful eyes. "Go, go!" she added, hearing a step in the adjoining room. The footman had come back to announce that my friends were seated in the carriage, and I was careful to say before him in a different tone: "Then there's nothing more I can do for you?" "Nothing--good-bye," said Louisa, tearing herself away too abruptly to take my kiss, which, to follow the servant again, I left unbestowed. I felt awkward and guilty as I took leave of the company, murmuring something to my entertainers about having had an arrangement to make with Miss Chantry. Most of the people bade us good-bye from the steps, but I didn't see Jack Brandon. On our drive home in the waning afternoon my other friends doubtless found me silent and stupid.