“Never that,” she said, compressing her lip.

“You’ll catch your death here.”

“A good thing too.  I can’t go on living.  If I do, I shall go mad,” she cried, pressing her hands to her head.

Passers-by were beginning to notice them.

Without success, Perigal urged her to walk.

She became hysterically excited and upbraided him in no uncertain voice.  She seemed to be working herself into a paroxysm of frenzy.  To calm her, perhaps because he was moved by her extremity, he overwhelmed her with endearments, the while he kissed her hands, her arms, her face, when no one was by.

She was influenced by his caresses, for she, presently, permitted herself to walk with him down the street, where they turned into the railed-in walk which crossed the churchyard.

He redoubled his efforts to induce in her a more normal state of mind.

“Don’t you love me, little Mavis?” he asked.  “If you did, you wouldn’t distress me so.”

“Love you!” she laughed scornfully.

“Then why can’t you listen and believe what I say?”

He said more to the same effect, urging, begging, praying her to trust him to marry her, when he could see his way clearly.

Perhaps because the mind, when confronted with danger, fights for existence as lustily as does the body, Mavis, against her convictions, strove with some success to believe the honeyed assurances which dropped so glibly from her lover’s tongue.  His eloquence bore down her already enfeebled resolution.

“Go on; go on; go on!” she cried.  “It’s all lies, no doubt; but it’s sweet to listen to all the same.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“Your love-words, I mean.  They’re all I’ve got to live for now.  What you can’t find heart to say, invent.  You’ve no idea what good it does me.”

“Mavis!” he cried reproachfully.

“It seems to give me life,” she declared, to add after a few moments of silence:  “Situated as I am, they’re like drops of water to a man dying of thirst.”

“But you’re not going to die:  you’re going to live and be happy with me!”

She looked at him questioningly, putting her soul into her eyes.

“But you must trust me,” he continued.

“Haven’t I already?” she asked.

He took no notice of her remark, but gave utterance to a platitude.

“There’s no love without trust,” he said.

“Say that again.”

“There’s no love without trust,” he repeated.  “What are you thinking of?” he asked, as she did not speak.

A light kindled in her eyes; her face was aglow with emotion; her bosom heaved convulsively.

“You ask me to trust you?” she said.

He nodded.

“Very well, then:  I love you; I will.”

“Mavis!” he cried.

“More, I’ll prove it.  You asked me to stay here with you.  I refused. 
I love you—­I trust you.  Do with me as you will.”