When Madeline came down to breakfast next morning she looked very ill. There was a wild light in her eyes and a feverish flush upon her face. Quite unsuspicious of the real cause of the change in her, Forster attributed it to the indisposition of the night before, and began to wonder if the sudden change in her habits was going to tell upon her health.

It certainly was a great change to be transported from the wild excitement of public life to the monotonous existence of a quiet house like his; but when he had asked her to give up the stage, he had thought he was lifting from her shoulders a load of which she would gladly be free. He had wished his wife to take her ease and enjoy her days, not to toil wearily as if for her daily bread. But now he began to think that he had been totally wrong. While he had been working away with unconscious happiness in the City, his beautiful wild bird had been beating her breast against the bars of her gilded cage, and pining for that freedom which to all gifted beings is so dear. These thoughts and many more of the same strain passed through Forster’s mind, while he made his way to the City. Long before he reached his office he had decided how to act.

‘I will speak to Madeline to-night,’ he said to himself, and hear her views. Something must be done to make her contented.’

Meanwhile Madeline, left with Miss Forster, walked about the room in new restlessness. She looked out of the window; it was a damp, dark day; she looked at her watch, it was past ten o’clock. In an hour she had promised to meet the man, and by this time she had settled in her mind that she must go.

What he could want with her she could not tell, and she had not paused to inquire. That he meant her no good she knew, but it was useless to anticipate the evil, till she knew its nature.

She went upstairs with a heavy heart, and returned, greatly to Miss Forster’s surprise, in walking costume.

The little boy, confident of his reception, came bounding in and clung affectionately to her skirts. She kissed him fondly, but told him he could not go with her that morning.

‘Not at all? May I not go a little way, mamma?’

‘Not even a little way, darling; I must go alone to-day.’

There was such a strange ring in her voice that Miss Forster looked up in some amazement, while the child clung closer to Madeline, and ardently kissed the cold, pale cheek.

‘Mamma is going to see a doctor,’ he said; ‘is it not so, mamma?’

“No, dear.’

‘Then where are you going alone, on such a cold wet day?’

Madeline flushed uneasily, and impatiently put the child from her.

‘You should not ask so many questions,’ she said; ‘it is rude!’ Then, noting the little crestfallen face, she hurriedly caught him up again and kissed him, while her own eyes filled with tears.

‘Hush, do not mind, I was wrong; but I did not mean to pain you, darling—no, no—not you!’

During the enacting of this scene Miss Forster had still remained in the room. Up to this moment she had said nothing; but her eyes had followed all her sister-in-law’s movements, and watched her face with peculiar interest. When Madeline had put down the boy, and was about to leave the room, she spoke.

‘The carriage has not come round,’ she said.

Madeline started, and turned. She had ignored the presence of her sister-in-law; and that lady noticed that the sudden recollection of it brought another uncomfortable flush to the pale cheek, and caused another anxious look about the room.

‘I—I have not ordered the carriage,’ she said.

‘Indeed?’

No question had been asked, therefore Madeline was not bound to reply; but feeling that she must say something, she stammered rather awkwardly—

‘I am going to walk. I prefer it to-day, as my head is bad, but I shall not be long away.’ Then, as if in dread of further questioning, she hurried from the room.

It was certainly a most inclement morning, but Madeline, being suitably clad, did not heed the weather. After walking a shor............