Madeline did not utter a cry this time, but she shrank farther and farther away. Then she raised her head and looked straight into the Frenchman’s eyes. For a moment she had been seized with a mad idea to disown any knowledge of him--that one look into his eyes convinced her that the device was hopeless. ‘Name a time and place,’ he repeated. Madeline knew that to refuse was impossible--so she said hurriedly--‘Albert Memorial to-morrow morning at 11.’ Then she gazed like a frightened child about her, and saw with dismay that Miss Forster stood close at hand. Had she heard or seen? Madeline could not tell, for the lady’s face betrayed nothing. She came quickly forward, and said, in her cold, unsympathetic voice-- ‘What is the matter, Madeline?’ Madeline’s face, which had lately been so pale, suddenly became crimson. She stammered out that nothing was the matter. ‘Mr. Serena told me that you had been ill.’ ‘I did not feel well,’ returned Madeline, regaining some of her self-command, ‘and I should like to go home--but, dear Miss Forster, if you will permit me I will go alone. It seems a pity to take you away so soon.’ The lady replied, coldly-- ‘I have no wish to stay. I came because my brother wished me to come; that was all.’ By this time Serena, who had been busy hurrying up the carriage, came to announce that it was ready, to offer his arm to the ladies, and once more to express his deep grief at Madeline’s untimely departure. Madeline took his arm in silence. As she moved away, she turned and gazed uneasily around her. The Frenchman was nowhere to be seen. The drive home was made in profound silence. Miss Forster sat in stately reticence and gazed from the carriage window at the flashing lamps of the street, while Madeline threw herself into her corner, closed her weary eyes, and tried to persuade herself that the event of the last hour had been but a dream. She was a little bewildered as yet, and unable to realise all that the man’s presence might mean. To her as yet he had only recalled the horror of her past-life; he had cast no actual shadow over her home. When the carriage was pulled up at the door and she stepped out, she felt herself shivering from head to foot, though in reality her hands and lips were burning. When she pleaded illness as the cause of her early return, Forster readily believed her, and while folding her in his arms he blamed his own folly for allowing her to go forth at all that night. Was it his fancy, or did Madeline really shrink from his embrace; yes, shrink from it, as she had never done before? He turned anxiously towards her, he noticed that her cheek was flushed, and that a strange light shone in her eyes; but he saw no mystery there.