“I don't want to know all--I don't want to know anything,” said Clare. “I assure you, my dear Agnes, that I have no curiosity in my nature on this particular point. He loves me--that is enough for me. I don't want to become acquainted with any other fact in the universe. Any one who fancies that--that--Oh, my dear Agnes, do you really suppose that Claude Westwood--the man who fought his way from the clutches of those savages--the most terrible in the world--the man who fought his way through the long forest of wild animals, deadly serpents, horrible poisonous unshapely creatures never before seen by the eye of man--and the swamps--a world of miasma, every breath meaning death--do you really suppose that such a man would allow any power to stand between him and the woman whom he loves? Think of it--think of the man and what he has done, and then talk to me if you can of any obstruction lying in our way to happiness.” “I pity you--I pity you! That's all I can say.” “You have no reason to pity me. I am the happiest girl in this world--in this world?--in any world. Heaven holds no happiness that is greater than mine. Ah, my dearest, you have been so kind to me--you and Fate--I have no thought for you that is not full of love. What woman would do as you have done for me? Who would be so kind to a stranger--perhaps an impostor?” “I wish to show my kindness now; that is why I entreat of you, with all my soul, to leave this place--never to see Claude Westwood again.” Clare was at the further end of the room, but when Agnes had spoken she returned slowly to her side. “Agnes,” she said, in a low and serious voice, “Agnes, if you wish me to leave your house I shall do so at once--this very evening. You have the right to turn me out--no, I do not wish to make use of such a phrase. I should say that you have a right to tell me that your plans do not admit of my being your visiter longer than to-night; and, believe me, I will not accuse you of any lack of courtesy or kindness toward me. I shall simply go away. But if you tell me that I am to forsake the man who loves me and whom I love, I shall simply tell you that you know me as imperfectly as you know him.” “As imperfectly as I know him!” said Agnes, slowly. Her eyes were upon Clare as she spoke; then she went to the window and looked out. There was a pause of long duration before the girl once again moved to her side, saying: “Dear Agnes, cannot you see that in this matter nothing that you might do or say could move me? If you were to tell me that he is a criminal--that he is the wickedest man living, I should not change in my love for him.” “I pity you, with all my soul,” said Agnes. “And if the time comes when you will, with bitterness and tears, admit that I warned you--that I advised you to place between you the broadest and deepest ocean that flows--you will hold me blameless.”