no longer. She shrank from them with inexpressible fear, knowing they
would bring what little blood she possessed to her face and very brow
in tell-tale floods. The one event from which her sensitive womanhood
drew back in deepest dread was his knowledge of her love. To prevent
this she would rather die, and she felt so weak and despairing that
she thought and almost hoped she would die. If she could only go away,
where she would not see him, and hide her wound! But how could she,
chained near his daily presence by weakness and helplessness?

Thus through the long night her despairing thoughts went to and fro,
and found no rest. Miss Wildmere's cold glance met her everywhere with
the assurance that such a creature as she could never be anything to
him, and, alas! his own words confirmed the verdict. Love that gives
all demands all, and such pitiful affection as he now gave was only a
mockery. The morning found her too weak to leave her room, and for
the few following days she made illness her excuse for remaining in
seclusion. As Graydon looked ruefully at her vacant chair the fourth
evening after the company, Mrs. Muir remarked, reproachfully, "I hope
you now realize how delicate Madge is. You never should have coaxed
her to go to that party."

He was filled with compunction, and brought her flowers, boxes of
candy, books, and everything which he imagined would amuse her. At the
same time he was growing a little impatient and provoked. He knew
that he had taken her from the kindest motives. Now that she gave up
utterly to her invalidism, he was inclined to question its necessity.
He found that he missed her more than he would have imagined, and his
brief hours at home were dreary by reason of her seclusion.

"Why don't you call in a first-class physician and put Madge under