She again left my side. So restless was she that even when she was seated her form swayed like one who is ever about to rise. Dr. F---- and I exchanged looks. She abruptly called from the window, "Mr. Fenton, have you seen the garden?" "Not yet, Mrs. Thorburn," he answered, approaching her. "Come, Arthur," she called, "we will show Mr. Fenton our flowers." I wished them to be alone, so I answered that I would change my coat and then join them. Saying which I left the room. But I was hardly in the hall before she came running after me. She took my hand and kissed it, saying, "Do you think I can be away from you?" "But you should not leave our guest alone, Geraldine. I will join you in a few minutes." "What is our guest compared to you, Arthur? Have you not been away from me? It was cruel to bring that man here; he comes between us; you are not _all_ my own now. He will require your attention, and I shall _hate_ him because you give it. I will ask him to go away." I detained her by the hand, fearing she would actually carry out her threat. "If you love me, darling," I said, "you will be courteous to this gentleman. You will not refuse me this favour." "If you asked me to love him, I would try to love him," she answered submissively, her lips tremulous, her eyes downcast. "That would make me jealous. I only want you to be courteous. Return to him now, show him over the grounds, and justify my great love for you by letting him see how sweet you can be." She gave me a long look and returned to the drawing-room. When afterwards I went downstairs I stood at the window watching them before I entered the grounds. They were traversing a broad walk. She looked incessantly towards the house; but sometimes she would loiter with an air of strange _abandon_, or bend to pick a flower and follow her companion with a bound. Alas! I did not need Dr. F---- to confirm my fears. There was not a look, a remark, even an attitude of hers, that did not now insinuate derangement. How she loved me! Those earnest glances at the house were for me. Pitiful it was to think on such a passion corrupted by madness. What a sorrowful pageant her beauty, her devotion, her innocence made! It was the Dance of Death; the graces marshalled by a skeleton. Was I worthy of her love? Yes, for I loved her well, too. She must have known it, to have been so fond of me. Instinct in this stood her in the place of reason. She loved me with her spirit; she recognised my love by the faculties of her spirit. Had her brain interpreted her experiences her devotion must have been less deep. CHAPTER IX. That night Dr. F---- and I sat in the library. Geraldine had retired to rest. Up to that moment we had found no opportunity for conversation, for she was always near, always at my side.