and stood looking at her. She had averted her head, so as not to appear to expect him; but now she looked round again, and he very gravely lifted his hat.
"May I take the liberty of sitting down?" he asked.
Agatha bowed in silence, and, to make room for him, moved a blue shawl of Diana's, which was lying on the bench; he slowly sank into the place and then said very gently:
"I have ventured to speak to you, because I have something particular to say." His voice trembled and he was extremely pale. His eyes, which Agatha thought very handsome, had a remarkable expression.
"I am afraid you are ill," she said, with great kindness. "I have often noticed you and pitied you."
"I thought you did, a little," the young man answered. "That is why I made up my mind to speak to you."
"You are getting worse," said Agatha, softly.
"Yes, I am getting worse; I am dying. I am perfectly conscious of it; I have no illusions. I am weaker every day; I shall last but a few weeks." This was said very simply; sadly but not lugubriously.
But Agatha felt almost awe-stricken; there stirred
