"I am ashamed to tell you." When Oscar came in, a little later, she fell on her knees--literally on her knees--before him.
Some overmastering agitation was in possession of her whole being, which made her, for the moment, reckless of what she said or did.

"I worship you!" she burst out hysterically, kissing his hand.

"You are the noblest of living men.

I can never, never be worthy of you!" The interpretation of these high-flown sayings and doings was, to my mind, briefly this: Oscar's money in the rector's pocket, and the rector's daughter used as the means.
The interval expired; the weeks succeeded each other.

All had been long since ready for the marriage--and still the marriage did not take place.
Far from becoming himself again, with time to help him--as the doctor had foretold--Oscar steadily grew worse.