'I know; but will you do it for me? I am yours now; do with me what you think best. I will marry you any day you tell me; I will do everything you tell me from this time. I am yours, George, body and soul!' 'Hush, hush, sweet love! I am not worthy of this. Shall we say this day month, my Marie?' 'Ay; I am willing.' 'This day three weeks?' 'If you wish it, George. The sooner the better.' 'Heaven bless my love for ever!' 'And Heaven bless my lover for ever, and keep him as he now is!' 'Amen.' 'Marie, you spoke a moment ago as if you had made my mother some promise. Have you done so?' 'Yes, George.' 'What was the promise?' 'Not to fix the day for our wedding so long as you were not as you are now.' 'What do you mean?' 'I told her I knew, by your manner in the train, that you had no longer those horrible ideas about religion; and as I knew they had disappeared on the way down from London, I promised not to marry you while you held them. What--what is the matter, George? Don't leave me, George. Why did you take your arm away? Why did you stand up? George, won't you speak to me?' 'My God, girl, what have you done!' 'What have I done? George, speak to me! My George, my love, my lord, tell me--tell poor Marie what she has done.... George, will you not look down at me, and tell me what I have done? ... I am on my knees at your feet.... I am kneeling at your feet, George.... Will you not look down?... Oh, my heart will burst! Will you not look down at me--say a word to me?... You will not? Then I will go!' She rose from her knees, and walked a few paces towards the door of the conservatory; stood, laid her hand on one of the flower-stands for support; essayed again to walk, tottered, stood still; and then, with a weary sigh, sank to the floor. The sound of her fall roused Osborne from his lethargy; the sound of his own voice was the last that had reached his consciousness. He sprang to her side, raised her, and opening the conservatory door, cried out,-- 'Nevill, Kate, help! Marie has fainted.' When she opened her eyes she found herself lying on a couch in the drawing-room. 'With the door shut, the heat and closeness of the place were too much for her. George ought to know no girl could stand that place with the door shut,' said Mrs Osborne. 'I tried to get to the door, and then I remember no more,' said Marie feebly. 'It was all my fault,' said George, in a tremulous voice. CHAPTER XII. IN THE STORM. The mind of George Osborne was vigorous, fearless, and candid. He had the perception of the poet without the poet's mobility. Once he had built up an idea, he could not alter the parts without endangering the whole. He was in everything conservative, except when he was revolutionary. If corruption existed in an institution, rather than try to eradicate the evil he would abolish the institution itself.