"He came down today."
"He was in the bay-parlour with Oscar, and I went into it. It has agitated me."
"But why should it agitate you?" rejoined the old Rector, who was very matter-of-fact. "It seems to me that you ought to accustom yourself to bear these chance meetings with equanimity, child. You can scarcely expect to go through life without seeing him now and then."
Adela bent her head to the stile and broke into sobs. Mr. Cleveland laid his protecting hand upon her shoulder.
"My dear! my dear! Strive to be calm. Surely a momentary sight of him ought not to put you into this state. Is it that you still dislike him so much?"
"Dislike him!" she exclaimed, the contrast between the word and the truth striking her painfully, and causing her to say more than she would have said. "I am dying for his forgiveness; dying to show him how true is my remorse; dying because I lost him."
The Rector did not quite see what answer to make to this. He held his tongue, and Adela resumed.
"I wish I was a Roman Catholic!"
The good man, evangelical Protestant, felt as if his gray hair were standing on end with surprise. "Oh, hush!" said he. "You don't know what you are saying."
"I do wish it," she sobbed. "I could then go into a convent, and find peace."