day.
Nor has any apology for her neglect of us been received, fond as she is
of writing little notes. Has that story in my Diary driven her away? Let
me see what to-morrow may bring forth.

To-day has brought forth--nothing. Mrs. Tenbruggen still keeps away from
us. It looks as if my Diary had something to do with the mystery of her
absence.

I am not in good spirits to-day. My nerves--if I have such things, which
is more than I know by my own experience--have been a little shaken by
a horrid dream. The medical information, which my thirst for knowledge
absorbed in the doctor's consulting-room, turned traitor--armed itself
with the grotesque horrors of nightmare--and so thoroughly frightened me
that I was on the point of being foolish enough to destroy my notes. I
thought better of it, and my notes are safe under lock and key.

Mr. Philip Dunboyne is trying to pave the way for his flight from this
house. He speaks of friends in London, whose interest will help him to
find the employment which is the object of his ambition. "In a few days
more," he said, "I shall ask for leave of absence."

Instead of looking at me, his eyes wandered to the window; his fingers
played restlessly with his watch-chain while he spoke. I thought I would
give him a chance, a last chance, of making the atonement that he owes
to me. This shows shameful weakness, on my part. Does my own resolution
startle me? Or does the wretch appeal--to what? To my pity? It cannot be
my love; I am positively sure that I hate him. Well, I am not the first
girl who had been an unanswerable riddle to herself.

"Is there any other motive for your departure?" I asked.

"What other motive can there be?" he replied. I put what I had to say to
him in plainer words still. "Tell me, Philip, are you beginning to wish
that you were a free man again?"

He still prevaricated. Was this because he is afraid of me, or because
he is not quite brute enough to insult me to my face? I tried again for
the third and last time. I almost put the words into his mouth.

"I fancy you have been out of temper lately," I said. "You have not been
your own kinder and better self. Is this the right interpretation of the
change that I think I see in you?"

He answered: "I have not been very well lately."

"And that is all?"

"Yes--that is all."

There was no more to be said; I turned away to leave the room. He
followed me to the door. After a momentary hesitation, he made the
at