Philip leaned back in the carriage, dizzy with the overwhelming sense of the peril that had beset her,--her! Then, mastered by an overpowering impulse, he threw himself forward and caught her hands, covering them with kisses. "Oh, my darling!" he gasped. "Oh, thank God you are safe!" She dragged her hands away from him, and shrank back. "Mr. Ashe!" she cried. "What is the matter with you? What are you doing?" He did not attempt to retain his hold, but drew himself back into the darkness of his corner of the carriage. A strange calmness followed his outbreak; a sort of joyous uplifting which made him master of himself completely. "I am sinning," he answered with a riotous sense of delight. "I am laying up remorse for all my future. I am telling you I love you; that I love you: I love you! I love you and I have saved you; and I shall brood over that, and do penance, and brood over it again, and do penance again, all my life long!" "Oh, you are confused, excited, hurt," she cried. "You don't know what you are saying!" "I know only too well what I am saying. I am saying that I"-- "Oh, for pity's sake, don't!" she moaned, putting out her hand. He caught her wrist, and again kissed her hand passionately. "Yes, I know that I ought not to say this now when you have had to bear so much already; that I ought never to say it; but it is said! It is said! You'll forget it, but I shall remember it all my life. I shall remember that you heard me say that I love you!" He threw himself back into his corner, and she shrank into hers, while the carriage went rattling over the pavement. Aching and sore, Philip yet knew a wild exhilaration, a certain divine madness which was so intense a delight that it almost made him weep. It was like a religious ecstasy, recalling to his mind moments in which he had seemed to be lifted almost to trance-like communion with holy spirits. "I ought to ask you to forgive me, Mrs. Fenton," he said as they drew near her house, "but I cannot. I did not mean to do this; but I can't regret it. I am sorry for you; I am sorry--I shall be sorry, that is--for the sin of it; but the sin is sweet." He wondered at his own voice, so even yet so high in pitch. "Oh, what shall I do?" Mrs. Fenton cried sobbingly. "Is it my fault that this happened?" "Oh, nothing can be your fault. It is all mine! But you must love me, I love you so!" "No, no," she exclaimed vehemently. "I don't love you! I cannot love you! For pity's sake don't say such things!" She buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs. Philip set his lips together, smiling bitterly at the pain it gave him. He controlled his voice as well as he was able. "I beg you will forgive me," said he. "I have been out of my head. Forget my impertinence, and"-- He could not finish, but the stopping of the carriage at her door saved him the need of farther effort.