"Come with me," continued Olive, drawing a step nearer the motionless girl; "accept me as your protector, for the present, at least. Believe me, I know what you are suffering now, and near at hand you will find that which will aid you to forget this man." Madeline slowly raised herself to a sitting posture and turned towards the speaker a face colorless as if dead, but with never a trace of a tear. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, and her lips were compressed, as if she had made, and was strong to keep, some dark resolve. "What is it that I am to find?" she said, in a low, intense tone. "A girl, young as you, and once as beautiful," replied Olive, sadly, "who is dying of a broken heart, and her destroyer is Lucian Davlin." Madeline gazed at her absently for a moment. "I suppose I had ought to hate you," she said, wearily; "you have made my life very black. Lucian Davlin will soon be here,--will you please go?" "Surely you are going with me?" said Olive, in amaze. "No." "You doubt me? Oh, I have not made you feel your danger! You think I am an impostor!" "No," said the girl, in the same quiet tone; "something here," putting her hand upon her bosom, "tells me that you are sincere. My own heart has abandoned me; it will not let me doubt you, much as I wish to. I cannot thank you for making my heart ache,--please go." Still with that air of unnatural calm, she arose and walked to the window. Of the two, Olive Girard was by far the more agitated. "Tell me," she said, in eager entreaty; "oh, tell me, you are not going with _him_?" Madeline turned sharply around. "I shall not add myself to the list of his victims," she said, briefly. And then the two gazed at each other in silence for a moment. "This is madness," said Olive, at length. "What rash thing do you meditate? I will not leave you to face this man alone; I dare not do it." Madeline came from the window and stood directly before her. "I am not the weak child you think me. You can do nothing but harm by remaining here. I will meet Lucian Davlin, and part with him in my own way," she said, between her teeth. Olive saw, in the set face, and stern eye, that she was indeed dealing with a character stubborn as death, and devoid of all fear. She dreaded to leave her thus, but felt assured that she could do nothing else. "Will you come to me afterward?" she asked. "You have no friends here, you tell me, and you need a friend now. Promise me this and I will go." "Thank you," said the girl, wearily; "at least I promise to go to no one else; good-by." Turning away, she resumed her position at the window, and never looked once at Olive after that.