somehow seemed to her the most natural and proper things in the world
to be said; and this poor handsome knight, who looked so earnest and
sorrowful,--how could she help answering, "Yes"? From her cradle she had
always loved everybody and every thing, and why should an exception be
made in behalf of a very handsome, very strong, yet very gentle and
submissive human being, who came and knocked so humbly at the door
of her heart? Neither Mary nor the saints had taught her to be
hard-hearted.

"Yes, my Lord," she said, "you may believe that I will love and pray for
you; but now you must leave me, and not come here any more,--because
grandmamma would not be willing that I should talk with you, and it
would be wrong to disobey her, she is so very good to me."

"But, dear Agnes," began the cavalier, approaching her, "I have many
things to say to you,--I have much to tell you."

"But I know grandmamma would not be willing," said Agnes; "indeed, you
must not come here any more."

"Well, then," said the stranger, "at least you will meet me at some
time,--tell me only where."

"I cannot,--indeed, I cannot," said Agnes, distressed and embarrassed.
"Even now, if grandmamma knew you were here, she would be so angry."

"But how can you pray for me, when you know nothing of me?"

"The dear Lord knoweth you," said Agnes; "and when I speak of you, He
will know what you need."