“Indeed you must not leave,” resumed Barbara.  “It would be unjust to allow you to do so.  You have made yourself ill, waiting upon poor William, and you must stay here and take a holiday until you are cured.  You will soon get well, if you will only suffer yourself to be properly waited on and taken care of.”

“You are very considerate.  Pray do not think me insensible if I decline.  I believe my strength is beyond getting up—­that I shall never be able to teach again.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Barbara, in her quick way.  “We are all given to fancy the worst when we are ill.  I was feeling terribly weak, only a few minutes ago, and said something of the same sort to Archibald.  He talked and soothed me out of it.  I wish you had your dear husband living, Madame Vine, to support you and love you, as I have him.”

A tinge of scarlet streaked Madame Vine’s pale face, and she laid her hand upon her beating heart.

“How could you think of leaving?  We should be glad to help re-establish your health, in any case, but it is only fair to do it now.  I felt sure, by 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?”