lifted almost to trance-like communion with holy spirits.

"I ought to ask you to forgive me, Mrs. Fenton," he said as they drew
near her house, "but I cannot. I did not mean to do this; but I can't
regret it. I am sorry for you; I am sorry--I shall be sorry, that is--
for the sin of it; but the sin is sweet."

He wondered at his own voice, so even yet so high in pitch.

"Oh, what shall I do?" Mrs. Fenton cried sobbingly. "Is it my fault
that this happened?"

"Oh, nothing can be your fault. It is all mine! But you must love me, I
love you so!"

"No, no," she exclaimed vehemently. "I don't love you! I cannot love
you! For pity's sake don't say such things!"

She buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs. Philip set his
lips together, smiling bitterly at the pain it gave him. He controlled
his voice as well as he was able.

"I beg you will forgive me," said he. "I have been out of my head.
Forget my impertinence, and"--

He could not finish, but the stopping of the carriage at her door saved
him the need of farther effort.

He assisted her to alight, rang the bell, and said goodnight in a voice
which he was sure did not betray him to the coachman.