Isabel, I am going to be a
Catholic."
A curious sound broke from her lips; and a look so strange came into her
face that he threw his arm round her, thinking she was going to faint:
and he spoke sharply.
"Isabel, Isabel, what is there to fear? Look at me!"
Then a cry broke from her white lips, and she struggled to stand up.
"No, no, no! you are mocking me. Oh! Anthony, what have I done, that you
should treat me like this?"
"Mocking!" he said, "before God I am not. My horse is waiting to take me
to the priest."
"But--but--" she began again. "Oh! then what have you done to James
Maxwell?"
"James Maxwell! Why? What do you mean? You got my note!"
"No--no. There was no answer, he said."
Anthony stared.
"Why, I wrote--and then Lady Maxwell! Does she not know, and James
himself?"
Isabel shook her head and looked at him wildly.
"Well, well, that must wait; one thing at a time," he said. "I _cannot_
wait now. I must go to Cuckfield. Ah! Isabel, say you understand."
Once or twice she began to speak, but failed; and sat panting and staring
at him.
"My darling," he said, "do not look like that: we are both Christians
still: we at least serve the same God. Surely you will not cast me off
for this?"
"Cast you off?" she said; and she laughed piteously and sharply; and then
was grave again. Then she suddenly cried,
"Oh, Anthony, swear to me you are not mocking me."
"My darling," he said, "why should I mock you? I have made the Exercises,
and have been instructed; and I have here a letter to Mr.
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