Upon this man, when all the faculties of his intellect, all the sensibilities of his emotions, had come to their full development, had burst the passion of love. He was no raw school-boy, sighing after a pretty face or a neat figure, but a strong man of mature thought, overwhelmingly convinced by his intellect as well as by his emotions that this woman alone could save his future life from being a desert, could make it full of the richest, fullest, most abounding life. 'Drunk or mad,' as he had said--he did not care what it was called--drunk or mad, he wanted her; and, if he won her, he could walk through life with a triumphant tread; without her he could do nothing but shamble into the grave. He prospered in his love; and then came that spiritual upheaval, wherein the records of his life were swallowed up, and all the palaces he had built thrown down. He stood aghast before the awful ruin. He had never before conceived so stupendous a disaster. His nerves were shattered, his reason was shaken. As soon as he got a moment's respite, a returning ray of faith, he thought of this woman, for the lightest pain of whose body he would give up his life. He thought she had been careless once, and if ever she married a man like Parkinson she would lose all. So at their betrothal, he swore her never to wed outside the church. After this came his complete downfall; and then he stood face to face with the confounding problem: Should he lose his love to save her faith, or snatch at the woman he loved, and imperil the future happiness, perhaps, of one for whose sake he would die a thousand times? It was during this fierce struggle he had behaved so inexplicably, and asked her to give him time. At that point he had thought his reason would utterly break down. This day, on the journey, the question wholly lost its spiritual aspect. All through the day, at dinner, and during the early part of that interview in the conservatory, he had been more happy than ever in all his life before, as he told her. But in those few simple words, alluding to his infidel ideas, 'I promised not to marry you while you held them,' a key had been struck which had never been sounded before. The positions of her and him had been reversed. He had been trying to save her; now she was trying to save him. This situation caused all the old agony to flow in upon him, and he did not hear or see anything until she fell. CHAPTER XIII. CONSERVATORY CONSPIRATORS. The next morning was bright, clear, crisp. Half-past nine was the hour for breakfast. At that time all but Miss Osborne and Miss Gordon were in the parlour. Presently Miss Osborne entered and said,-- 'I have just been in with Miss Gordon; she will not come down to breakfast. She is quite well, but a little tired; only tired.'