And swiftly, as though in response to a call, a definite, conscious thought from the other personality presented itself: "Yes? What would you have of me?" Edith lay back among her pillows, as the clock struck the half hour. The body, as though resentful of denial, urged itself swiftly upon her now. Her heart beat tumultuously, her hands shook, she thrilled from head to foot with actual physical pain. The darkness no longer seemed alive, but negative and dead, holding somewhere in its merciful depths the promise of rest. Utterly exhausted, she closed her eyes and slept, to be roused by a tap at her door. "Yes," she answered, drowsily, "come in!" Madame came in, pulled up the shades and flooded the room with sunshine. "I'm sorry if I've disturbed you, dear, but I was afraid you were ill. I've been here twice before." [Sidenote: Aroused from Sleep] Edith sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?" "Half-past nine." "Oh, I'm so sorry! You mustn't spoil me this way, for I do want to get up to breakfast. Why didn't you call me?" Madame sat down on the side of the bed and patted Edith's outstretched hand with affectionate reassurance. "You're to do just as you please," she said, "but I was beginning to worry a bit, for you've been the soul of punctuality." "Did--" Edith closed her lips firmly upon the instinctive question, "Did he miss me?" She dismissed it as the mere vapouring of a vacant brain. "Did what?" asked Madame, helpfully. "Did you miss me?" "Of course. Alden did too. The last thing he said before he went to school was that he hoped you were not ill." "That was nice of him." Edith put a small pink foot out of bed on the other side and gazed at it pensively. Madame laughed. "I don't believe you've grown up," she said. "You remind me of a small child, who has just discovered her toes. Do you want your breakfast up here?" "No, I'll come down. Give me half an hour and I'll appear before you, clothed and in my right mind, with as humble an apology for my sins as I'm able to compose in the meantime." [Sidenote: Call of the Wander-Lust] She was as good as her word, appearing promptly at the time she had set, and dressed for the street. After doing justice to a hearty breakfast, she said that she was going out for a walk and probably would not be back to luncheon. "My dear!" exclaimed Madame. "You mustn't do that. I'll have luncheon kept for you." "No, please don't, for I really shan't want any. Didn't you observe my breakfast? Even a piano-mover couldn't think of eating again before seven, so let me go a-gypsying till sunset." Madame nodded troubled acquiescence, and, with a laugh, Edith kissed her good-bye. "I'm subject to the Wander-lust," she said, "and when the call comes, I have to go. It's in my blood to-day, so farewell for the present."