"Then you still have faith in this girl?"
"I will not believe so ill of her as you seem to desire, until some farther explanation is had. She may love my brother, and he, I cannot well understand how any man could help loving her, for she was the purest, the most lovely character I ever knew."
"She was that character, it is well you say was," answered Agnes, with a dash of scorn in her voice; "for I am about to offer you proof of what she is."
Ralph turned white, and recoiled a step back. "Proof—proof, have you heard something, then?"
"Yes, I have heard from Miss Lina—she has sent for me. A private message, of which no one is to be informed."
"And, when are you going?—where is she now?" inquired Ralph, in breathless astonishment.
"Now," answered Agnes. "She has sent a conveyance from the city, which waits at a curve of the road. I may not return to-night—may never return. My occupation here is gone, and no one will regret me. I came unloved, and I go away the stranger I was then!"
It was dark, and Ralph could not see her face distinctly, but the sound of tears was in her voice.
"Not so—not so!" said he, impetuously. "You will be regretted—we, at least, are not strangers; I will go with you. If this girl is in the city, I will convince myself of the fact; then, if your suspicions were correct, she shall never occupy a thought of mine while I have existence."
"Go with me if you wish," said Agnes, mournfully; "it will be a few moments taken from the desolation of life that must follow; after that I shall be alone."