struggling to gain egress, then with a mighty effort she added,
laughingly,

"When the day after to-morrow comes, it will be the tenth, then
the eleventh, then the twelfth, and then, you know, I'm coming to
you in the library. Send Victor off for that evening, can't you?
He's sure to come in when I don't want him, if he's here," and
this she said because she feared it would be harder to say yes if
Victor's reproachful eyes should once look upon her, as they were
sure to do, if he suspected her designs.

Richard could not understand why Victor must be sent away, but
anything Edith asked was right, and he replied that Victor should
not trouble them.

"There, he's coming now!" and Edith dropped the hand she held, as
if fearful lest the Frenchman should suspect.

This was not the proper feeling, she knew, and returning to the
house, she shut herself up in her room, crying bitterly because
she could not make herself feel differently!

The twelfth came at last, not a balmy, pleasant day as May is wont
to bring, but a rainy, dreary April day, when the gray clouds
chased each other across the leaden sky, now showing a disposition
to bring out patches of blue, and again growing black and heavy as
the fitful showers came pattering down. Edith was sick. The strong
tension of nerves she had endured for four long weeks was giving
way. She could not keep up longer; and Richard breakfasted and
dined without her, while with an aching head she listened to the