"We must find that out," said Delarry. "Now I have come to London I cannot go back to Oxford; I am in quarantine! As for the Lady Agnes, I fully believe she has been taken out of the city and is in safety. No one has any interest in her death; on the contrary, her life is valuable, and, believe me, she will not be attacked."
With this Patience had to be satisfied. The devotion and the bravery which Ann showed under these trying circumstances excited not only Delarry's admiration, but increased the feeling of devotion which had long existed in his heart for her.
She was so simple and so brave, so devoutly religious. Morning and evening, and ofttimes at mid-day, he would meet her on her way to St. Paul's, and they would go together and pray for the deliverance of the nation, and listen to the preachers, who upbraided men for their sins and besought them to repent. It is not surprising if the link between them grew to be strong, and so one day, finding himself alone with her on the terrace, he asked her to be his wife.
"Then I shall have a right to do what I will for you," he said, "in life or in death."
"This is no time for marrying or giving in marriage," answered Ann.
"Why not," he asked, "if it unites two souls in good works? You are so utterly alone, having neither father, nor mother, nor brother, no kith or kin. I ask your leave to be all things to you. I have no need to tell you that I love you; I prove it by my desire to serve you."
The tears gathered in Ann's eyes.
"Truly you have given me the best proof of love a man can give," she answered.
Her hand was resting on the stone parapet; he laid his on it.
"Well," he said, "which is it to be? yea or nay?"