"I will."
"At eleven o'clock we must go to the magistrate's office. I will walk there with you."
"Am I to be arrested?" she asked, hesitating.
"If you go with me it will not be an arrest."
"Mr. Salter," she cried, in a burst of anguish, "I am not fit to be seen upon the streets of Kensington."
He took her in his arms like a daughter.
"Yes, yes, poor girl! The mother of God braved no less. You can bear it. But all this morning I must be closely engaged. An important event happened last night. At eleven, positively, be ready to go out with me."
Agnes was ready, and stepped forth into the daylight on the main thoroughfare of Queen Street. Almost every window was filled with gazers; the sidewalks were lined with strollers, loiterers, and people waiting. She might have fainted if Duff Salter's arm had not been there to sustain her.
A large fishwife, with a basket on her head, was standing beside her comely grown daughter, who had put her large basket down, and both devoured Agnes with their eyes.
"Staying in the house, Beck," exclaimed the mother of the girl, "has been healthy for some people."