"You are quite broken down and exhausted," is his dictum. "Rest and recuperation are what you need. I will leave you a tonic, and in about ten days you may be well enough to be taken for a short drive, and in two days more you may be strong enough to walk down to the sea-shore, and----" "Distraction, man!" thunders the irascible invalid. "Do you think I have come to this place to stay a year? No, sir. I am going to start back to America to-morrow." "But, my friend, you know that is quite impossible," laughs the stout, good-natured physician. "At your time of life, recuperation goes on but slowly, and----" "I tell you I'm as young as I ever was," this from Mr. Langton, in tones of mulish obstinacy. "And I tell you you're breaking down of old age, and you'll not stir from this for two weeks; if you do you'll risk your life. You understand me, young lady?" turning to Reine. "Yes, sir, and your directions shall be implicitly carried out." "But, Reine," he objects when the doctor has gone, "you know you said it would be impossible we should stay beyond to-morrow." "We must manage some way--you must not be hurt by our haste. We will go as soon as we can, that is all," she answers, patting his cheek, then turning gently from him to the window. The dark, blue waves go splashing softly past under the gaze of her dark, sad eyes. A thought comes into her mind: "But most of all would I flee from the cruel madness of love. The honey of poison flowers, and all the measureless ill." CHAPTER XIV. "Another day. Never was mortal so glad to behold daylight," ejaculated Vane Charteris, yawning with all the weariness of one who has seen the long hours of a sleepless night glide past. This is somewhat an unusual experience for our hero, but for once mind has so far triumphed over matter as to keep the drowsy god Somnus far away. A day and a night have been passed in vexing thought. Now when the first golden beams of sunshine gild the sea, he rises weary and unrefreshed, and goes for a stroll on the shore, this early outing being also a novel experience for him. Early as it appears to him, others are astir before him. He meets several people returning from an early morning dip in the briny element. Down on the sands he comes face to face with a vision fresh and fair as the summer morn itself--Reine, in a graceful boating dress, stepping lightly into a little boat that rides at anchor on the tide. As she takes up the oars with consummate skill, his voice falls on her hearing, giving her a shock of surprise: "Good morning; will you carry a passenger?" She lifts to him her lovely face, flushed with a Hebe-like bloom, the light of the new day sunning itself goldenly in her pansy-dark eyes. Somehow in this out-of-doors chance encounter there is none of the embarrassment that would attend a formal meeting in the house. There is even some of the old time _badinage_ and sauciness in her tones as she replies: