and that she had better come with me. She asserts
that her father will want her."

"That is all nonsense," said Graham hastily; "of course she
cannot come in now," then noticing Madelon's poor little face,
alternately white, and flushed with misery and passion, he
said, "Listen to me, Madelon; you can do your father no good
now. He would not know you, my poor child, and you would only
be in the way. But I promise you that by-and-by you shall see
him."

"By-and-by," said Madelon; "how soon?"

"As soon as we can possibly manage it."

Nothing, perhaps, would have induced Madelon at that moment to
have given into Madame Lavaux' unsupported persuasions, but
she yielded at once to Horace; indeed her sudden passion had
already died away at the sight of his face, at the sound of
the kind voice which she had somehow begun to associate with a
sense of help and protection. She did not quite give up her
point even now, however.

"I need not go upstairs," she said, with trembling lips and
tears in her eyes. "I may go into my own room, may I not?"

"Your room? Which is that?" asked Graham.

"This one--next to papa," she said, pointing to the door that
led into the passage.

"Yes, you can stay there if you like; but don't you think you
would be better with Madame Lavaux, than all by yourself in
there?"

"No, I would rather stay here," she answered, and then pausing
a moment at the door, "I may come and see him presently?" she
added wistfully, "I always nursed him when he was ill before."

"I am sure you are a very good little nurse," said Graham
kindly, "and I will tell you when you may come; but it will
not be just yet. So the best thing you can do will be to go to
bed, and then you will be quite ready for to-morrow."

He had no time to say more, for his services were required. He
gave Madelon a candle, closed the door that communicated
between the two rooms, and she was left alone.

CHAPTER II.

A Farewell Letter.

Madelon was left alone to feel giddy, helpless, bewildered in
the reaction from strong excitement and passion. She was quite
tired and worn-out, too, with her long watching and waiting;
too weary to cry even, or to think over all that had happened.

She did not go to bed, however; that would have been the last
thing she would have thought of doing; for, Graham's last
words notwithstanding, she had a notion that in a few minutes
she would be called to come and watch by her father, as she
had of