ul eyes still upon her face. A
little light-stand, with his medicines and a candle, stood on his
left. Presently he reached out and took a little box from off it, and
extended it to Madelon. She shrank back.

"Take it, Madelon."

"No, I don't want it."

"Oh, Madelon, take it and open it at least, and let me see you."

Madelon took the box, with an impatient gesture, and opened it, and a
ring set with a great pearl gleamed on its red velvet cushion. She
closed the box and held it out towards Lot. "I want no presents,
Lot," she said, but almost gently.

"Oh, Madelon, keep it!"

She reached across him, and laid the little box back on the table.

"There's another ring I've got for you you'll have to wear, Madelon."

"I will wear what I must, for the sake of my promise, when the time
comes, but that is all I will do," returned Madelon; and she seemed
to feel, as she spoke, the wedding-ring close around her finger like
a snake.

"Can nothing I can give you please you, Madelon?"

"No, Lot," she said, but not ungently. She began to move away.

"Madelon," said Lot.

"Well?" Madelon waited, but Lot said not another word. She went on
towards the door.

"Madelon," he whispered, and she stopped again; but this time also
there was a long silence, which he did not break.

Madelon opened the door, and his piteous cry came for the third time,
and she waited on the threshold; but again he said nothing more.

"Good-night," said she, shortly, and was out, and the door shut. Then
she heard a cry from him, as if he were dying. "Madelon, Madelon!"

She opened the door with a jerk, and went back. "Lot," said she,
sternly, "this is the last time I will come back. Once for all, what
is it you want of me?"

Lot looked up at her, his face working. He strove to speak and could
not. He strove again, and his voice was weak and gasping as if the
breath of life had almost left him. "We--had better not be
married--to-morrow," he said, with his piteous eyes upon Madelon's
face.

She started, and stared at him as if she feared she did not hear
rightly.

"I--have been--thinking it over," Lot went on, panting; "I am not as
well--we had better wait--until--May. My cough--the doctor--we will
wait--Madelon!" Lot's broken speech ended in a pitiful cry of her
name.

"Why do you do this?" she asked, looking at him with her white, stern
face, through which an expression of joy, which she tried to keep
back, was struggling.

"I am no