He was going, but she laid her hand on his arm.
"Wait a moment," she said, finding her voice. "I am so confused and bewildered that I hardly understand what you have said. But should it all be true—you know—you know—" averting her face, "he believes me guilty!"
"We will undeceive him; I can give him proofs, 'strong as Holy Writ;' and, if he loves you, he will be open to conviction. All will come right after a while; only have patience and wait. Keep up a good heart, my dear child, and trust in God."
She dropped feebly into a chair, looking with a bewildered face at the fire.
"I can't realize it," she murmured. "It is like a scene in a novel. I can't realize it."
She heard the door close behind Doctor Frank—she heard a girlish voice accost him in the hall. It was Miss Rose, in a rustling silk dinner-dress, with laces, and ribbons, and jewels fluttering and sparkling about her.
"Is Agnes Darling in there?" she asked suspiciously.
"Yes. I have just been making a professional call."
"Professional! I thought she was well."
"Getting well, my dear Miss Rose; getting well, I am happy to say. It is the duty of a conscientious physician to see after his patients until they are perfectly recovered."