a
to compose itself when it rages."

"Madalina!" said he.

"Well,--what of Madalina? Madalina has lost her own respect,--for
ever."

"Do not say that."

"Oh, John--why did you ever come here? Why? Why did we meet at
that fatal woman's house? Or, meeting so, why did we not part as
strangers? Sir, why have you come here to my mother's house day after
day, evening after evening, if--. Oh, heavens, what am I saying? I
wonder whether you will scorn me always?"

"I will never scorn you."

"And you will pardon me?"

"Madalina, there is nothing to pardon."

"And--you will love me?" Then, without waiting for any more
encouraging reply,--unable, probably, to wait a moment longer, she
sunk upon his bosom. He caught her, of course,--and at that moment
the drawing-room door was opened, and Lady Demolines entered the
chamber. John Eames detected at a glance the skirt of the old white
dressing gown which he had seen whisking away on the occasion of his
last visit at Porchester Terrace. But on the present occasion Lady
Demolines wore over it a short red opera cloak, and the cap on her
head was ornamented with coloured ribbons. "What is this," she said,
"and why am I thus disturbed?" Madalina lay motionless in Johnny's
arms, while the old woman glowered at him from under the coloured
ribbons. "Mr. Eames, what is it that I behold?" she said.

[Illustration: "What is it that I behold?"]

"Your daughter, madam, seems to be a little unwell," said Johnny.
Madalina kept her feet firm upon the ground, but did not for a moment
lose her purchase against Johnny's waistcoat. Her respirations came
very strong, but they came a good deal stronger when he mentioned the
fact that she was not so well as she might be.

"Unwell!" said Lady Demolines. And John was stricken at the moment
with a conviction that her ladyship must have passed the early part
of her life upon the stage. "You would trifle with me, sir. Beware
that you do not trifle with her,--with Madalina."

"My mother," said Madalina; but still she did not give up her
purchase, and the voice seemed to come half from her and half from
Johnny. "Come to me, my mother." Then Lady Demolines hastened to her
daughter, and Madalina between them was gradually laid at her length
upon the sofa. The work of laying her out, however, was left almost
entirely to the stronger arm of Mr. John Eames. "Thanks, mother,"
said Madalina; but she had not as yet opened her eyes, even for an
instant. "