"P.S.--Please don't be vexed with Jerry for going away. I gave him leave of absence myself, and I told him I would make it all right with you.--D." She folded the letter with a curious kind of precision, slipped it into an envelope, sealed and addressed it, and propped it up against the inkpot on her husband's desk, so that he could not fail to find it. Then, when it was time to dress for dinner, she went upstairs and let her maid put her into an evening frock, exactly as though nothing out of the ordinary were going on, just as though to-day--the last day she would ever spend in her husband's home--were no different from any other day. She made a pretence of eating dinner, and afterwards sat in her own little sitting-room, with a book in front of her, of which she read not a single line. Presently, when she was quite sure that all the servants had gone to bed, she made a pilgrimage through the house, moving reluctantly from room to room, taking a silent farewell of the place where she had known such happiness--and afterwards, such pain. At last she went to bed, but she felt too restless and keyed up to sleep, so she slipped into a soft, silken wrapper and established herself in a big easy-chair by the fire. The latter had died down into a dull, red glow, but she prodded the embers into a flame, adding fresh coal, and as the pleasant warmth of it lapped her round, a feeling of gentle languor gradually stole over her, and at length she slept. . . . She woke with a start. Some one was trying the handle of the door--very quietly, but yet not at all as though making any attempt to conceal the fact. Something must be amiss, and one of the maids had come to warn her. The possibility that the house was on fire, or that burglars had broken in, flashed through her mind. She sprang to her feet, and switching on the light, called out sharply:-- "Who is it?" She had not fastened the lock overnight, and her heart beat in great suffocating throbs as she watched the handle turn. The next moment some one came quickly into the room and closed the door. It was Max! Diana fell back a step, staring incredulously. "_You_!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "_You_!" He advanced a few paces into the room. He was very pale, and his face wore a curiously excited expression. His eyes were brilliant--fiercely exultant, yet with an odd gleam of the old, familiar mockery in their depths, as though something in the situation amused him. "Yes," he said. "Are you surprised to see me?" "You--you said you were not returning till Saturday," she stammered. "I found I could get away sooner than I expected, so I caught the last up-train--and here I am." There was a rakish, devil-may-care note in his voice that filled her with a vague apprehension. Summoning up her courage, she faced him, striving to keep her voice steady. "And why--why have you come to me--now?"