In paths of thought like these her mind wandered, her head lying upon her arms on the old-fashioned, wide-spread window-sill.  At length, weary with emotion and weeping, she fell fast asleep, and slept for some time.

The house was very still.  Mr. Drake and Dorothy were in no haste to return.  Amanda was asleep, and Lisbeth was in the kitchen—­perhaps also asleep.

Juliet woke with a great start.  Arms were around her from behind, lifting her from her half-prone position of sorrowful rest.  With a terrified cry, she strove to free herself.

“Juliet, my love! my heart! be still, and let me speak,” said Faber.  His voice trembled as if full of tears.  “I can bear this no longer.  You are my fate.  I never lived till I knew you.  I shall cease to live when I know for certain that you turn from me.”

Juliet was like one half-drowned, just lifted from the water, struggling to beat it away from eyes and ears and mouth.

“Pray leave me, Mr. Faber,” she cried, half-terrified, half-bewildered, as she rose and turned toward him.  But while she pushed him away with one hand, she unconsciously clasped his arm tight with the other.  “You have no right to come into my room, and surprise me—­startle me so!  Do go away.  I will come to you.”

“Pardon, pardon, my angel!  Do not speak so loud,” he said, falling on his knees, and clasping hers.

“Do go away,” persisted Juliet, trying to remove his grasp.  “What will they think if they find us—­you here.  They know I am perfectly well.”

“You drive me to liberties that make me tremble, Juliet.  Everywhere you avoid me.  You are never to be seen without some hateful protector.  Ages ago I put up a prayer to you—­one of life or death to me, and, like the God you believe in, you have left it unanswered.  You have no pity on the sufferings you cause me!  If your God be cruel, why should you be cruel too?  Is not one tormentor enough in your universe?  If there be a future let us go on together to find it.  If there be not, let us yet enjoy what of life may be enjoyed.  My past is a sad one—­”

Juliet shuddered.

“Ah, my beautiful, you too have suffered!” he went on.  “Let us be angels of mercy to each other, each helping the other to forget!  My griefs I should count worthless if I might but erase yours.”

“I would I could say the same!” said Juliet, but only in her heart.

“Whatever they may have been,” he continued, “my highest ambition shall be to make you forget them.  We will love like beings whose only eternity is the moment.  Come with me, Juliet; we will go down into the last darkness together, loving each other—­and then peace.  At least there is no eternal hate in my poor, ice-cold religion, as there is in yours.  I am not suffering alone, Juliet.  All whom it is my work to relieve, are suffering from your unkindness.  For a time I prided myself that I gave every one of them as full attention as before, but I can not keep it up.  I am defeated.  My brain seems deserting me.  I mistake symptoms, forget cases, confound medicines, fall into incredible blunders.  My hand trembles, my judgment wavers, my will is undecided.  Juliet, you are ruining me.”