"I can't bear it any longer." he says, passionately "Darling! darling! why will you kill yourself? How can I watch you dying by inches? Have pity for me, if you have none for yourself, and save me from going mad. Phyllis, dearest?" controlling himself by an effort, and trying to speak more calmly, "why can you not look upon me as a cousin, or brother, or father, and let me take you abroad to some place where you can get change of air and scene, and where I may at least be near enough to protect you and see that you want for nothing?" "My _father_" return I, with an amused laugh: "just compare yourself with papa; think of the inhuman length of his nose. I am afraid it would not do. The world, simple as it has shown itself, would hardly accept you in that light. You grow younger and fresher every day. It is wonderful how little the agony of your mind preys upon your body." "Phyllis," regardless of this taunt, "let me take you to the south of France." "Oh, why can't I be let alone?" I cry, pettishly. "Why am I to be tormented every hour of the day? I hate dirty, foreign towns; and besides, I know all the journeys I could take would do me no good; but if I am to get no peace until I consent to leave the only place that pleases me, I may as well do so at once. I will go back to Strangemore." "You mean it darling?" cautiously, and without evincing too much joy, lest in my pettishness I should repent and go back of my words. "Oh, yes: why not? Rather than be perpetually told how obstinate and self-willed and sullen I am, I would go to Timbuctoo, or Hong Kong, or any other cheerful spot." "You would not try a warmer climate first?" with hesitation. "You know Sir James spoke of---" "No. I will go to Strangemore, or nowhere. I have always had a fancy for it. Even long, long ago--how short a time in reality!--when Billy and I used to go nesting and fishing there, we thought it the sweetest spot on earth. I almost think it so still. Is it not odd that I should look with such kindness upon the scene of my greatest trouble?" "Hush!" with a shudder: "do not let us think of it." "Why not? I often do. It seems very far away now. _She_ had her grievance, too, poor soul!" "When will you start?" abruptly. "Next week? Monday?" "To-morrow," with decision. "The sooner the better. If I die on me way," with cruel gayety, "blame yourself for it and remember you would have it so." "To-morrow, then," says 'Duke, with a long sigh. CHAPTER XXIX. As I cross the threshold and enter the old hall at Strangemore, a great passionate rush of unrestrainable rapture flows over me. Sudden recollections and emotions threaten to overpower me. I am at home, at rest, at last! With an impulsive movement I put my hand to my heart. Each well-remembered object sends out to me a thousand welcomes. With silent joy I greet them.