“Don’t weep, dear Richard:  kiss me.”

He shrank from her proffered lips with a cold shudder.  “Nay, I can not kiss you.  Do not ask me why, Harry.  Never ask me; but I never can.”

She looked at him with wonder, for she saw that his wrath had vanished.  His tone was tender, though woeful, and his touch as he put her aside was as gentle as a child’s.

“As you please, Richard,” said she, humbly, and with a deep blush.  “I only wished for it as a token of your forgiveness.  It is not necessary; those tears have told me we are reconciled.  But you will kiss Charley.”

“Nay; he must never know,” answered Richard gloomily.

“I had forgotten,” said Harry, simply.  “You can guess by that the loyalty of my heart toward you, Richard.  I forgot that to reveal it would be to tell my darling of his mother’s shame.  But you will be kind and good to him; you will undo what you have done of harm; you will lead him back to Agnes, and then he will be safe.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered Richard, mechanically; “I will undo so far as I can what I have done of harm.  I will do my best, as I have done my worst.”

He rose hastily, and rang the bell.  Harry eyed him like some attached creature that sympathizes with but can not comprehend its master.

The waiter entered.

“I shall not go by the train,” said Richard; “let a carriage and pair be brought round instantly, without a moment’s delay.”

The waiter hurried out to execute the order.

“But you will surely return home, Richard, after what has happened?” said Harry, thinking of his mother’s funeral.

“The dead can wait,” returned he, solemnly.  “Go you back to town.  In three days’ time, if you do not hear from me, come down to Gethin with Charles and Agnes.”

“But I dare not, unless my husband send for me.”

“He will send for you,” said Richard, solemnly; “or others will in his behalf.”

Without one word or sign of farewell he suddenly rushed by her, and was gone.  A carriage stood at the front-door of the hotel, which had just returned from taking a bride and bridegroom to the railway station, and she saw him hurry into it.

“Fast! fast!” she heard him cry, through the open window; and then he was whirled away.

CHAPTER XLVI.

CURTIUS.

Richard had many subjects for thought to beguile his lonely way to Gethin, but one was paramount, and absorbed the rest, though he strove to dismiss it all he could.