I know now, that some one sends
me,--some one--who has a right to interfere."

He pushed me away with all his might. "You are mad," he cried. "What
right have you to think--? Oh, you are mad--mad! I have seen it
coming on--"

The woman, the petitioner, had grown silent, watching this brief conflict
with the terror and interest with which women watch a struggle between
men. She started and fell back when she heard what he said, but did not
take her eyes off me, following every movement I made. When I turned to
go away, a cry of indescribable disappointment and remonstrance burst
from her, and even my father raised himself up and stared at my
withdrawal, astonished to find that he had overcome me so soon and
easily. I paused for a moment, and looked back on them, seeing them large
and vague through the mist of fever. "I am not going away," I said. "I am
going for another messenger,--one you can't gainsay."

My father rose. He called out to me threateningly, "I will have nothing
touched that is hers. Nothing that is hers shall be profaned--"

I waited to hear no more; I knew what I had to do. By what means it was
conveyed to me I cannot tell; but the certainty of an influence which no
one thought of calmed me in the midst of my fever. I went out into the
hall, where I had seen the young stranger waiting. I went up to her and
touched her on the shoulder. She rose at once, with a little movement of
alarm, yet with docile and instant obedience, as if she had expected the
summons. I made her take off her veil and her bonnet, scarcely looking at
her, scarcely seeing her, knowing how it was: I took her soft, small,
cool, yet trembling hand into mine; it was so soft and cool,--not
cold,--it refreshed me with its tremulous touch. All through I moved and
spoke like a man in a dream; swiftly, noiselessly, all the complications
of waking life removed; without embarrassment, without reflection,
without the loss of a moment. My father was still standing up, leaning a
little forward as he had done when I withdrew; threatening, yet
terror-stricken, not knowing what I might be about to do, when I returned
with my companion. That was the one thing he had not thought of. He was
entirely undecided, unprepared. He gave her one look, flung up his arms
above his head, and uttered a distracted cry, so wild that it seemed the
last outcry of nature,--"Agnes!" then fell back like a sudden ruin, upon
himself, into his chair.

I had no leisure