CHAPTER XII
'Do you think she is mad?' Agnes asked.
'I think she is simply wicked. False, superstitious, 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. I am ashamed to own it--but so it is.'
Henry looked at her, hesitated for a moment, and seated himself
on the sofa by her side.
'I am very anxious about you, Agnes,' he said. 'But for the fortunate
chance which led me to call here to-day--who knows what that vile
woman might not have said or done, if she had found you alone?
My dear, you are leading a sadly unprotected solitary life.
I don't like to think of it; I want to see it changed--especially after
what has happened to-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 sufficient protection in the companionship
of such a person for a lady in 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 a feeble effort to withdraw it--
and yielded.
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