So tight were her arms wound round her that Agnes could not move. She held her as if she would have almost carried her up to heaven in her exultation. Looking into her face it struck Agnes as strangely beautiful; she had never seen it thus before. Her eyes were as coals of fire; the lips parted as the impassioned words dropped from them.
Suddenly the woman collapsed. She loosened her hold of Agnes, staggered, and would have fallen had not the girl upheld her; but she threw her off, and, casting herself on the ground, broke forth into fierce weeping. The bands of iron which had bound her soul gave way and she could only cry:
"Save me, oh God, save me, for Thy mercy's sake!"
With that delicate instinct which is inherent in some souls, Agnes felt that this was no place for her, that she had no right to look upon the weakness of this strong woman, and quietly, with tears pouring down her face, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
She paused for a moment on the landing, then, descending the stairs, found her way into the little sitting-room, where Ann and Patience were waiting for her. The discomposure of her face revealed to them at once that something unusual had happened.
"Have you seen my mother?" asked Ann, coming forward.
"Oh, it is too terrible, too terrible!" said Agnes, her tears bursting forth again, and, letting herself fall on the settle beside Patience, she clung to her for protection.
"What has happened, dear? tell me," said Patience softly.
"Nothing has happened," was the quiet answer, "but her grief is terrible to see."
"I will go to her," said Ann, rising.