ld you?"

"No, no; not now--not now, I entreat you," said Mrs. Willoughby, in
nervous dread. She was afraid that his delirium would bring him upon
delicate ground, and she tried to hold him back.

"But I must ask you," said Dacres, trembling fearfully--"I must--now
or never. Tell me my doom; I have suffered so much. Oh, Heavens!
Answer me. Can you? Can you feel toward me as you once did?"

"He's utterly mad," thought Mrs. Willoughby; "but he'll get worse if I
don't soothe him. Poor fellow! I ought to answer him."

"Yes," she said, in a low voice.

"Oh, my darling!" murmured Dacres, in rapture inexpressible; "my
darling!" he repeated; and grasping Mrs. Willoughby's hand, he pressed
it to his lips. "And you will love me again--you will love me?"

Mrs. Willoughby paused. The man was mad, but the ground was so
dangerous! Yes, she must humor him. She felt his hot kisses on her
hand.

"You _will_--you _will_ love me, will you not?" he repeated. "Oh,
answer me! Answer me, or I shall die!"

"Yes," whispered Mrs. Willoughby, faintly.

As she said this a cold chill passed through her. But it was too late.
Dacres's arms were around her. He had drawn her to him, and pressed
her against his breast, and she felt hot tears upon her head.

"Oh, Arethusa!" cried Dacres.

"Well," said Mrs. Willoughby, as soon as she could extricate herself,
"there's a mistake, you know."

"A mistake, darling?"

"Oh dear, what _shall_ I do?" thought Mrs. Willoughby; "he's beginning
again. I must stop this, and bring him to his senses. How terrible it
is to humor a delirious man!"

"Oh, Arethusa!" sighed Dacres once more.

Mrs. Willoughby arose.

"I'm not Arethusa at all," said she; "that isn't my name. If you _can_
shake off your delirium, I wish you would. I really do."

"What!" cried Dacres, in amazement.

"I'm not Arethusa at all; that isn't my name."

"Not your name?"

"No; my name's Kitty."

"Kitty!" cried Dacres, starting to his feet.

At that instant the report of a gun burst upon their ears, followed by
another and another; then there were wild calls and loud shouts. Other
guns were heard.

Yet amidst all this wild alarm there was nothing which had so
tremendous an effect upon Dacres as this last remark of Mrs.
Willoughby's.

[Illustration: "THE PRIEST FLUNG HIMSELF FORWARD."]

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE CRISIS OF LIFE.

When the Irish priest conjectured that it was about two o'clock in the
morning he was not