“I will go now! She must not be frightened again--she must not see me when she wakes. You understand? Poor, dear old lady! She imagines I am not human, and she has told me I shall be your doom!” She smiled. “Do you think I shall?” Her loveliness shone upon him like a light too brilliant to endure. His heart beat furiously, but he would not look at her,--he bent his head over his mother’s passive figure, busying himself with restoratives,--and answered nothing. She waited a minute,--then added--“You will arrange for my leaving here as soon as possible? After what she has said, it will be best for your mother that I should go at once.” Then, and then only, he lifted his dark eyes,--they were sad and strained. “I will arrange everything,” he said. “No doubt the sooner we part, the better!” She smiled again,--then moved swiftly away into her bedroom and locked the door. Slowly Madame Dimitrius recovered and looked around her with an alarmed expression. “She has gone?” “Yes,” her son replied, with a bitterness he could not restrain. “She has gone!--and she will go! You have driven away the loveliest thing ever seen on earth! _my_ creation! Through you she will leave me altogether--and yet you say you love me!” “I do! I do love you!” cried his mother, weeping. “Féodor, Féodor, I love you as no other can or will! I love you, and by my love I claim your soul! I claim it from the powers of evil!--I claim it for God!” CHAPTER XXII The swiftness and silence of Diana’s departure from the Château Fragonard was of an almost uncanny nature. There were no affectionate leave-takings,--and she made no attempt to see Madame Dimitrius, who, thoroughly unnerved and ill, remained in her bedroom,--nor would she permit of any escort to the station, or “seeing off” by way of farewell. She simply left the house, having packed and labelled her own luggage to be sent after her,--and walked quietly with Dr. Dimitrius, through the lovely gardens all in their summer beauty, to the private gate opening out to the high road, from whence it was an easy ten minutes to the station. He was very silent, and his usual composure had entirely deserted him. “I cannot part with you like this,” he said, in low, nervous tones, as she gave him her hand in “good-bye.” “As soon as my mother recovers from this strange breakdown of hers, I shall follow you. I must see you again----” She smiled. “Must you?” “Of course I must! I am deeply grateful to you,--do not think I can forget your patience--your courage----” He paused, deeply moved. “I hate the idea of your travelling all alone to London!” “Why?” she asked, in an amused tone--“I came all alone!” “Yes--but it was different----” “You mean I looked ‘mature,’ then?” she laughed. “Oh, well! Nobody will interfere with a girl returning home from school in Geneva!” A pained smile crossed his face. “Yes!--you can play that part very well!” he admitted. “But you cannot live alone without someone to look after you!”