“Who forbids you, Agnes?  Who has the right to forbid your good, kind heart to love, where love is so deeply needed and so gratefully received?”

“My holy father, whom I am bound to obey as my soul’s director,” said Agnes; “he has forbidden me so much as to listen to a word, and yet I have listened to many.  How could I help it?”

“Ever these priests!” said the cavalier, his brow darkening with an impatient frown; “wolves in sheep’s clothing!”

“Alas!” said Agnes, sorrowfully, “why will you”—­

“Why will I what?” he said, facing suddenly toward her, and looking down with a fierce, scornful determination.

“Why will you be at war with the Holy Church?  Why will you peril your eternal salvation?”

“Is there a Holy Church?  Where is it?  Would there were one!  I am blind and cannot see it.  Little Agnes, you promised to lead me; but you drop my hand in the darkness.  Who will guide me, if you will not?”

“My Lord, I am most unfit to be your guide.  I am a poor girl, without any learning; but there is my uncle I spoke to you of.  Oh, my Lord, if you only would go to him, he is wise and gentle both.  I must go in now, my Lord,—­indeed, I must.  I must not sin further.  I must do a heavy penance for having listened and spoken to you, after the holy father had forbidden me.”

“No, Agnes, you shall not go in,” said the cavalier, suddenly stepping before her and placing himself across the doorway; “you shall see me, and hear me too.  I take the sin on myself; you cannot help it.  How will you avoid me?  Will you fly now down the path of the gorge?  I will follow you,—­I am desperate.  I had but one comfort on earth, but one hope of heaven, and that through you; and you, cruel, are so ready to give me up at the first word of your priest!”

“God knows if I do it willingly,” said Agnes; “but I know it is best; for I feel I should love you too well, if I saw more of you.  My Lord, you are strong and can compel me, but I beg you to leave me.”

“Dear Agnes, could you really feel it possible that you might love me too well?” said the cavalier, his whole manner changing.  “Ah! could I carry you far away to my home in the mountains, far up in the beautiful blue mountains, where the air is so clear, and the weary, wrangling world lies so far below that one forgets it entirely, you should be my wife, my queen, my empress.  You should lead me where you would; your word should be my law.  I will go with you wherever you will,—­to confession, to sacrament, to prayers, never so often; never will I rebel against your word; if you decree, I will bend my neck to king or priest; I will reconcile me with anybody or anything only for your sweet sake; you shall lead me all my life; and when we die, I ask only that you may lead me to our Mother’s throne in heaven, and pray her to tolerate me for your sake.  Come, now, dear, is not even one unworthy soul worth saving?”