Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-02-29
CHAPTER XII.

"Do you think she is mad?" Agnes asked.
 q think she is simply wicked. False, super stitious, inveterately cruel-but not mad. I believe her main motive in coming here was to enjoy the luxury of frightening you."
 "She has frightened me. am ashamed to own it-but so it is"
 Henry looked at her, hesitated for mo- ment, and seated himself on the sofa by her side.
 "1 am very anxious about you, Agnes" he said. But for the fortunate chance which led me to call here today-who knows what that vile woman might not have said or done, if she had found you alone7 My dear, you are leading sadly unprotected, solitary life. don't like to think of it.; want to see it changed-especially after what has happened today. No! mol it is useless to tell me that you have your old nurse She is too old; she is not ill your rank of life-there is no sufIi- cient protection in the companionship of such person for lady ill your position. Don't mistake me, Agnes; what I say, I say in the sincerity of my devotion to you" He paused and took her hand. She made feeble effort to withdraw it-and yielded. "Will the day never come," he pleaded "when the privilege of protecting you may be mines when you will be the pride and joy of my life, as long as my life lastss" He pressed her hand gently. She made no reply. The color came and went on her face; her eyes were turned 1 away from him. "Have been so unhappy as to offend you?" he asked. 1 She answered that-she said, almost in a | whisper, "No."
 | "Have distressed you2" "You have made me think of the sad days that are gone" She said no more; she only | tried to withdraw her hand from his for the second time He still held it, he lifted it to bis lips.
 "Can never make you think of other days | than those-of happier days to come2 Or, If you must think of the time that is passed, l can you not look back to the time when first loved yous"
 She sighed as he put the question. "Spare me, Henry" she answered sadly. "Say no | morew
 The color rose again in her cheeks; her hand trembed in his. She looked lovely, with her eyes cast down and her bosom heav- ! ing gently. At that moment he would have ! given everything he had ill the world to take her ill his arms and kiss her. Some mysteri- ous sympathy, passing from his hand to hers, seemed to tell her what was in his mind. She snatched her hand away and suddenly looked up at him. The tears were in her eyes. She said nothing; she let her eyes speak for her. They warned him-without anger, without unkndness--but still they | oAASA >A1~>e
 "Ony tell me that am forgiven" he said, as he rose from the sofa.
 "Yes," she answered, quietly. "you are for given"
 q have not lowered myself ill your estima- tion, Agnesa"
 "Oh, mol"
 "Do you wish me to leave you"
 She rose in her turn from the sofa, and walked to the writing table before she re- piled. Tue unfinished letter which she had been writing when Lady Montbarry inter- rupted her lay open on the plotting book. As she looked at the letter, and then looked at Henry, that smile that charmed every body showed itself ill her face
 "You must not go just yet" she said; Il have something to tell you. I hardly know how to express it. The shortest way, per haps, will be to let you find it out for your self You have been speaking of my lonely, unprotected life here. It is not very happy life, Henry-I own that" She paused, ob. serving the growing anxiety of his expression as he looked at her with shy satisfaction that perplexed him. "Do you know that have anticipated your ideal" she went on q am going to make great change in my life " voux brusher Stephen and his wffe viii