CHAPTER XII
'Do you think she is mad?' Agnes asked.
'I think she is simply wicked. False, superstitious, inveteratelycruel--but not mad. I believe her main motive in coming here was toenjoy the luxury of frightening you.'
'She has frightened me. I am ashamed to own it--but so it is.'
Henry looked at her, hesitated for a moment, and seated himself on thesofa by her side.
'I am very anxious about you, Agnes,' he said. 'But for the fortunatechance which led me to call here to-day--who knows what that vile womanmight not have said or done, if she had found you alone? My dear, youare leading a sadly unprotected solitary life. I don't like to thinkof it; I want to see it changed--especially after what has happenedto-day. No! no! it is useless to tell me that you have your old nurse.She is too old; she is not in your rank of life--there is no sufficientprotection in the companionship of such a person for a lady in yourposition. Don't mistake me, Agnes! what I say, I say in the sincerityof my devotion to you.' He paused, and took her hand. She made afeeble effort to withdraw it--and yielded. 'Will the day never come,'he pleaded, 'when the privilege of protecting you may be mine? when youwill be the pride and joy of my life, as long as my life lasts?' Hepressed her hand gently. She made no reply. The colour came and wenton her face; her eyes were turned away from him. 'Have I been sounhappy as to offend you?' he asked.
She answered that--she said, almost in a whisper, 'No.'
'Have I distressed you?'
'You have made me think of the sad days that are gone.' She said nomore; she only tried to withdraw her hand from his for the second time.He still held it; he lifted it to his lips.