During that night he slept little, but when he did sleep he dreamed of Madeline. Now he clasped her in his arms and plunged with her into wild waters--again he drew her from some darkly surging river, or with uplifted knife stood waiting to plunge it into the heart of the grinning Frenchman. He was glad when daylight relieved him from such dreams. His first care was to ascertain how his charge was thriving. The report was favourable again; she had passed a peaceful night, and in the morning she had lain for half an hour talking rationally to her maid. She heard with perfect equanimity of the departure and continued absence of Madame de Fontenay and Monsieur Belleisle. She opened and read the letter which Monsieur had left for her, then quietly burned it in the candle which stood beside her bed. She thanked her maid for her kindness, said she must be removed from that place, and then dropped into an exhausted sleep again. Well satisfied with the account, the young man again returned home to await the arrival of Mr. White. In the afternoon White came. ’Twas no other, of course, than our old acquaintance, but so changed that his nearest friend would hardly know him. His cheeks were ghastly, his eyes sunken, his hair and beard unkempt, and his clothes in a deplorable condition with the long and tedious travel. Despite his disreputable appearance, however, the young man’s heart went out to him at once. He gave him a cordial welcome, and tenderly told him all that he knew about his ward. In return, White gave his confidence, and then the two men walked together to the house where Madeline lay. White’s hands trembled, his cheeks turned very pale, when the maid came to conduct him to Madeline’s room. He went up alone. In one of the lower salons the other awaited his return. One hour passed, then another; he read one, read all the papers, walked restless up and down in growing excitement--till White returned to him, with cheeks more pinched and ghastly than they had been before, and pitiful tears in his eyes. He laid his tremulous hand upon the young man’s shoulder. ‘She has sobbed herself to sleep,’ he said. ‘Would you like to see her now?’ The other, unable to resist, went again into the room where Madeline lay. She was quite unconscious of his presence, in a deep but troubled sleep. Her loose fair hair was scattered upon the pillow--her breath came in short quick pants, which sometimes turned to sobs. Upon one hand her cheek was resting, the other lay carelessly upon the coverlet. The young man raised her hand gently, and pressed it to his lips. ‘Farewell!’ he murmured. ‘God knows if we shall meet again!’ CHAPTER XVIII.--IMOGEN.