"Take my advice," said Claude earnestly--"leave him; let him go his own road. Travel to London, and get a decent living for yourself there." "I will think of it," she said wearily; and then a vague unconsciousness began to steal over her face. "You are tired," said Hyacinth gently; "lie down and sleep again. Good-by." The birds were singing gayly when they turned to leave her. "Stay," said Claude; "what is your name?" "Anna Barratt," she replied; and only Heaven knows whether those were the last words she spoke. CHAPTER VIII. The woman laid her weary head down again as one who would fain rest, and they walked away from her. "We have done a good deed," said Claude thoughtfully; "saved that poor woman from being murdered, perhaps. I hope she will do what I advised--start for London. If my mother should take a fancy to her, she could easily put her in the way of getting her living." To his surprise, Hyacinth suddenly took her hand from his, and broke out into a wild fit of weeping. "My darling, what is it? Cynthy, what is the matter?" She sat down upon a large moss-covered stone and wept as though her heart would break. The sight of those raining tears, the sound of those deep-drawn sobs and passionate cries filled him with grief and dismay. He knelt down by the girl's side, and tried to draw her hands from her face. "Cynthy, you make me so wretched! Tell me what is wrong--I cannot bear to see you so." Then the violence of her weeping abated. She looked at him. "Claude," she said, "I am so sorry I left home--it is all so wicked and so wrong. I must go back again." He started from her. "Do you mean that you are sorry you have come with me, Hyacinth?" "Yes, very sorry," she sobbed. "I must go back. I did not think of consequences. I can see them so plainly now. It is wicked to run away from home. That poor woman did it, and see what has come to her. Claude, I believe that Providence has placed that woman across my path, and that the words she has spoken are a warning message." "That is all nonsense, Cynthy; there can be no comparison between the two cases. I am not a ruffian like that woman's husband." "No you are not; but the step was wicked, Claude. I understand all now. Be kind to me, and let me go back home." "Of course," said Claude sullenly, "I cannot run away with you against your will. If you insist upon it, I will do as you ask; but it is making a terrible simpleton of me." "You will forgive me," she returned. "You will say afterward that I acted rightly. I shall be miserable, Claude--I shall never be happy again--if I do not return home." "If you persist in this, we shall be parted forever," he said angrily. "It will be best," she replied. "Do not be angry with me, Claude. I do not think--I--I love you enough to marry you and live with you always. I have blinded myself with romance and nonsense. I do not love you--not even so much as that poor woman loves her husband. Oh, Claude, let me return home."