‘Why should you wish it? You know, dearest, I have no pleasure in anything of this kind unless you are with me. I would rather have a quiet evening at home in your company than go out alone to any entertainment, however amusing.’ ‘I know that,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but to-night--I would rather be alone. When you are gone, and all is quiet, I shall lie down, and when you come back I shall be quite well. So go, for my sake--I wish you to be there.’ Seeing her so persistent, and thinking her wish was a mere whim which it would be unkind not to gratify, Forster at last assented, though with a very unwilling mind. He was really alarmed at his wife’s look and manner, and setting it down, in his loving solicitude, to some growing illness, he determined in his own mind to consult the family physician without delay. Having extracted his promise, Madeline prepared to go. Before retiring, however, she took up the ‘Plain Speaker,’ and said-- ‘May I take this with me? I may be able to read a little, and--and--I should like to read about Mr. Serena.’ Her hands shook like a leaf as she clutched the paper, her faced assumed an even ghastlier pallor. She moved tremulously to the door. ‘I shall not come down to dinner,’ she said. ‘No? Then let me send you something to your room.’ ‘I could not touch a morsel, while my headache lasts. Don’t mind me, but go to the theatre and enjoy yourself. Good--good-bye!’ Not ‘good-night,’ but ‘good-bye.’ He did not notice the words then, but they recurred to him long afterwards, with an ominous and piteous sound. As she uttered them, she yielded to an irresistible impulse, and, quickly returning to his side, stooped over him and kissed him. As she did so, he felt a hot tear fall upon his cheek. ‘Madeline, my darling!’ he cried in astonishment, and stretched out his arms to embrace her, but before he could do so she was gone. She fled back to her lonely room, and there, locked in and alone, she threw herself upon the bed and sobbed wildly. By the bedside lay the fatal journal, which she had carried with her, and which had now fallen from her lax and feeble hand. An hour and a half passed away. At last she heard a knock at the bedroom door, and then Forster’s voice-- ‘Madeline, are you asleep? May I come in?’ She waited, trembling, for a little time before she replied. Then she answered, not rising from the bed-- ‘I am trying to rest. I thought that you had gone to the theatre.’ ‘The carriage is at the dcor. How is your headache?’ ‘A little better.’ ‘Try to sleep, my darling. I shall come back very early.’ She heard him pass downstairs; then, rising from her bed, she listened eagerly. Presently she heard the front door open and close, and the carriage drive away. Her whole manner now changed, and she moved about her room, lifting one thing and another as if with a set determination. She had resolved to leave James Forster’s house that night. CHAPTER XXXVI.--‘GOOD-BYE!’