"Do with you?" smiling at her. "Make you well again, and then try and coax you to be my other sister. Don't you think I need one?" No answer. "Life has much in store for you yet, Madeline." "Yes;" bitterly again. "You are so young." "And so old." "Madeline, you are too young for somber thoughts and repining." "I shall not repine." "Good! You will try to forget?" "Impossible!" "No; not impossible." "I do not wish to, then." "And why?" "Wait and see." "Madeline, you will do nothing rash? You will trust me, and confide in me?" The girl raised her eyes slowly, in surprise. "I have not so many friends that I can afford to lose one." "Thank you, dear; then we will let the subject drop until we are stronger. And here is the carriage, and Doctor Vaughan." Out into the sunny Summer morning went Madeline, and soon she was established in a lovely little room which, Olive said, was hers so long as she could be persuaded to occupy it. Here the girl rested and, ministered unto by gentle hands, she felt life coming back. * * * * * And Lucian? Late in the afternoon of the day that saw Madeline depart from his elegant rooms, Mr. Davlin arrived, and found no one to deny him admittance. All the doors stood ajar, and Henry was flitting about with an air of putting things to rights. The bird had flown. He gained from Henry the following: "I don't know, sir, where she went. A gentleman came with a carriage, and the young lady and the nurse went away with him." Lucian was not aware what manner of nurse Madeline had had in her illness. And Henry, having purposely misled him, enjoyed his discomfiture. "She told me to give you this, sir," said he, handing his master a little package. Tearing off the wrapper, Lucian held in his hand the little pistol that had inflicted upon him the wounded arm. From its mouth he drew a scrap of paper, and this is what it said: When next we meet, I shall have other weapons! CHAPTER X. BONNIE, BEWITCHING CLAIRE. Four months. We find Madeline standing in the late Autumn sunset, "clothed and in her right mind," strong with the strength of youth, and beautiful with even more than her olden beauty. Fair is the prospect as seen from the grounds of Mrs. Girard's suburban villa, and so, perhaps, Claire Keith is thinking. She is looking down the level road, and at the trees on either hand, decked in all their October magnificence of scarlet and brown and gold, half concealing coquettish villas and more stately residences.