the news brought to me when I was ill, that your attention upon
William was overtasking your strength."

"It is not the attendance upon William that has brought me into this
state," was the quick answer. "I _must_ leave; I have well considered it
over."

"Would you like to go to the seaside?" exclaimed Barbara with sudden
energy. "I am going there on Monday next. Mr. Carlyle insists upon it
that I try a little change. I had intended only to take my baby, but we
can make different arrangements, and take you and Lucy. It might do you
good, Madame Vine."

She shook her head. "No; it would make me worse. All that I want is
perfect quiet. I must beg you to understand that I shall leave. And I
should be glad if you could allow the customary notice to be dispensed
with, so that I may be at liberty to depart within a few days."

"Look here, then," said Barbara, after a pause of consideration, "you
remain at East Lynne until my return, which will be in a fortnight. Mr.
Carlyle cannot stay with me, so I know I shall be tired in less time
than that. I do not want you to remain to teach, you know, Madame Vine;
I do not wish you to do a single thing. Lucy shall have a holiday, and
Mr. Kane can come up for her music. Only I could not be content to leave
her, unless under your surveillance; she is getting of an age now not
to be consigned to servants, not to Joyce. Upon my return, if you still
wish to leave, you shall then be at liberty to do so. What do you say?"

Madame Vine said "Yes." Said it eagerly. To have another fortnight with
her children, Lucy and Archibald, was very like a reprieve, and she
embraced it. Although she knew, as I have said, that grim Death was on
his way, she did not think he had drawn so near the end of his journey.
Her thoughts went back to the time when she had been ordered to the
seaside after an illness. It had been a marvel if they had not. She
remembered how he, her husband, had urged the change upon her; how he
had taken her, traveling carefully; how tenderly anxious he had been
in the arrangements for her comfort, when settling her in the lodgings;
how, when he came again to see her, he had met her with his passionate
fondness, thanking God for the visible improvement in her looks. That
one injunction which she had called him back to give him, as he was
departing for the boat, was bitterly present to her now: "Do not get
making love to Barbara Hare." All this care, and love, and tenderness
belon