“I am glad of that,” said Antonio, “because then I hope you will like me.”

“Oh, yes, certainly, I do; grandmamma says you are very good, and I like all good people.”

“Well, then, pretty Agnes,” said the young man, “let me carry your basket.”

“Oh, you don’t need to; it does not tire me.”

“But I should like to do something for you,” insisted the young man, blushing deeply.

“Well, you may, then,” said Agnes, who began to wonder at the length of time her grandmother allowed this conversation to go on without interrupting it, as she generally had done when a young man was in the case.  Quite to her astonishment, her venerable relative, instead of sticking as close to her as her shadow, was walking forward very fast without looking behind.

“Now, Holy Mother,” said that excellent matron, “do help this young man to bring this affair out straight, and give an old woman, who has had a world of troubles, a little peace in her old age!”

Agnes found herself, therefore, quite unusually situated, alone in the company of a handsome young man, and apparently with the consent of her grandmother.  Some girls might have felt emotions of embarrassment, or even alarm, at this new situation; but the sacred loneliness and seclusion in which Agnes had been educated had given her a confiding fearlessness, such as voyagers have found in the birds of bright foreign islands which have never been invaded by man.  She looked up at Antonio with a pleased, admiring smile,—­much such as she would have given, if a great handsome stag, or other sylvan companion, had stepped from the forest and looked a friendship at her through his large liquid eyes.  She seemed, in an innocent, frank way, to like to have him walking by her, and thought him very good to carry her basket,—­though, as she told him, he need not do it, it did not tire her in the least.

“Nor does it tire me, pretty Agnes,” said he, with an embarrassed laugh.  “See what a great fellow I am,—­how strong!  Look,—­I can bend an iron bar in my hands!  I am as strong as an ox,—­and I should like always to use my strength for you.”

“Should you?  How very kind of you!  It is very Christian to use one’s strength for others, like the good Saint Christopher.”

“But I would use my strength for you because—­I love you, gentle Agnes!”

“That is right, too,” replied Agnes.  “We must all love one another, my good Antonio.”

“You must know what I mean,” said the young man.  “I mean that I want to marry you.”

“I am sorry for that, Antonio,” replied Agnes, gravely; “because I do not want to marry you.  I am never going to marry anybody.”

“Ah, girls always talk so, my mother told me; but nobody ever heard of a girl that did not want a husband; that is impossible,” said Antonio, with simplicity.

“I believe girls generally do, Antonio; but I do not:  my desire is to go to the convent.”