Then he gave some further directions, and finally left the room, and presently John and May were once more alone. She lay quite still, but that terrible look of pain never left her face. John went and sat by her, and took her hand, but he dare not talk to her after what the doctor had said. And so the time passed on, and after an hour or so, May herself broke the silence. "John," she said in a feeble voice, "I have something to say to you." "What is it, my darling? But you had best not talk of anything just now." "I want to say--I can not go back to Pembridge Terrace," went on May, still in those faltering accents; "I can not see my father." "You shall not, May--I swear you shall not! This was why I brought you away. You shall see no one, and we will go to Australia together; go anywhere you like, and you shall be my own dear wife always; my own sweet, dear wife." A faint shudder ran through May's frame. "Nothing shall ever part us, May," continued John Temple, and once more he knelt down by her side and took both her hands in his. "We could not live apart." May looked in his face with strange wistfulness, and a quiver passed over her pale lips, and then she drew John's hand closer to her. "We could not live apart," she murmured, and then she sighed. "We will not, but I want to spare you all possible annoyance and worry, May. When you feel a little better, I think it would be best for me to drive over to Miss Webster's, and tell her that as you are not feeling very well, you are not going to return there this evening, and that to-morrow you are going away for a few days with me, I will ask them to give me what you will require, and I will not tell them where you are; or rather I shall not give them the right address. Thus, if your father goes there to-morrow, he will not find you, and to-morrow I think we had better cross to France, and we can settle our future plans there, out of the way of everyone. What do you think of this?" May lay silent for a moment or two; then she said, slowly: "Yes, John, that will be best; you had best go now." "But are you well enough for me to leave you? I do not like leaving you." Again May sighed wearily, and then raised herself up and put her arms around his neck. "You had better go," she said; "and--and John, will you remember that--that I will always love you!" "I am sure of it; you give me fresh life, May--well, then, good-by, though I shall soon be back." Their lips met in one long, tender, clinging kiss, and then John Temple reluctantly left her. But on the whole his mind was somewhat relieved. She had borne it better than he expected; at all events she had said they could not live apart. But scarcely had the door of the room closed behind him when a great change came over May's face. There came over it despair--blank, bitter despair. She sat up and thought. She put her hand to her brow. "I can not bear it," she said, half-aloud; "it is too hard to bear."