“No, my Lord, I have not.  I have only promised and vowed in my heart to do so when the Lord shall open the way.”

“But such vows, dear Agnes, are often dispensed; they may be loosed by the priest.  Now hear me,—­only hear me.  I believe as your uncle believes,—­your good, pious uncle, whom you love so much.  I have taken the sacrament from his hand; he has blessed me as a son.  I believe as Jerome Savonarola believes.  He it is, that holy prophet, who has proclaimed this Pope and his crew to be vile usurpers, reigning in the name of Christ.”

“My Lord! my Lord!  I must not hear more!  I must not,—­I cannot,—­I will not!” said Agnes, becoming violently agitated, as she found herself listening with interest to the pleadings of her lover.

“Oh, Agnes, what has turned your heart against me?  I thought you promised to love me a little?”

“Oh, hush! hush! don’t plead with me!” she said, with a wild, affrighted look.

He sought to come towards her, and she sprang forward and threw herself at his feet.

“Oh, my Lord, for mercy’s sake let me go!  Let us go on our way!  We will pray for you always,—­yes, always!” And she looked up at him in an agony of earnestness.

“Am I so hateful to you, then, Agnes?”

“Hateful?  Oh, no, no!  God knows you are—­I—­I—­yes, I love you too well, and you have too much power over me; but, oh, do not use it!  If I hear you talk, I shall yield,—­I surely shall, and we shall be lost, both of us!  Oh, my God!  I shall be the means of your damnation!”

“Agnes!”

“It is true! it is true!  Oh, do not talk to me, but promise me, promise me, or I shall die!  Have pity on me! have pity on yourself!”

In the agony of her feelings her voice became almost a shriek, and her wild, affrighted face had a deadly pallor; she looked like one in a death-agony.  Agostino was alarmed, and hastened to soothe her, by promising whatever she required.

“Agnes, dear Agnes, I submit; only be calm.  I promise anything,—­anything in the wide world you can ask.”

“Will you let me go?”

“Yes.”

“And will you let my poor grandmamma go with me?”

“Yes.”

“And you will not talk with me any more?”

“Not if you do not wish it.  And now,” he said, “that I have submitted to all these hard conditions, will you suffer me to raise you?”

He took her hands and lifted her up; they were cold, and she was trembling and shivering.  He held them a moment; she tried to withdraw them, and he let them go.

“Farewell, Agnes!” he said.  “I am going.”

She raised both her hands and pressed the sharp cross to her bosom, but made no answer.

“I yield to your will,” he continued.  “Immediately when I leave you, your grandmother will come to you, and the attendants who brought you here will conduct you to the high-road.  For me, since it is your will, I part here.  Farewell, Agnes!”