The touch recalls me. With a shudder I snatch away my fingers, and drawing back, sweep past him in eager haste to rid myself of him and the evil fears to which his words have given rise. I hurry on with parted lips and trembling pulses, anxious to escape. Crossing the rustic bridge that spans a small stream at the end of a pathway, I glance instinctively backwards. He is still standing motionless on the exact spot where we parted, his arms folded, his head bare, his eyes fixed upon my retreating form. Again I shudder and hasten oat of sight. --- I have said, "I will never see his face again." To carry out this design I determine on suffering from headache for once in my life, and by this means absent myself from dinner. Armed with this resolution, I go swiftly to my room as the early night closes in, having lingered in the gardens as long as prudence would permit. Throwing myself upon a sofa, I summoned the faithful Martha, and declare myself unwell. They hardly constitute a lie, these words of mine, as my temples, through excitement and uneasiness, are throbbing painfully. I feel feverish, and miserably restless, though my foolish superstition of a few hours since has resolved itself into thin air and vanished. Still, how can I draw breath freely while "_that man_" continues to haunt the house? "Dear, dear me, m'm," says Martha, coming to the front, as usual, with mournful vehemence, and an unlimited supply of remedies. "You do look bad, to be sure. You really should get advice, m'm. There is young Dr. Manley in the village, as is that clever, I do hear, as he can cure anything; and you are getting them headaches dreadful frequent. Only two days since I used a whole bottle of ody-collun upon your pore forehead. But vinegar is an elegant thing, and much stronger than the ody. Shall I try it, m'm?" "No thank you, Martha," I say, feeling hysterical: "I prefer the 'Ody;'" whereupon Jean Maria Farina is produced, and I am gently bathed for five minutes. Marmaduke comes softly in. "A headache, darling," he says, with tender commiseration: "that is too bad. Martha give me the bottle. I will see to your mistress. "The delicatest touch possible, if you please, sir," says Martha, warningly, who doesn't believe in men, as she leaves the room. She is dreadfully old-maidish, this favorite attendant of mine, but she adores me, and with me to be loved is a necessity. I have made up my mind to say nothing to 'Duke on the subject of Sir Mark until the latter is well out of the house. So for the present I permit my husband to think my slight indisposition about the worst of its kind ever known. "What can have given it to you?" he says, damping my hot brow with more than a woman's gentleness. "I told you, Phyllis, it was very foolish of you to venture out of doors to-day; I hope you have not got a chill."