He was paler, and there was an odd, nervous contraction about his whole face, as if a frown of anxiety and perplexity had extended.
He held out his hand, but she took no notice of it.
"I have come," said she; "what is it ?" "Won't you shake hands, Madelon ?" Madelon held out her hand, with her face averted, but Lot did not take it, after all.
"My hand is too cold," he muttered; "never mind--" He continued to look at her, and the anxious lines on his face deepened.
"Are you feeling worse than usual ?" Madelon asked; and a little kindness came into her voice, for Lot Gordon looked again like a sick child who had lost his way in the world.
Lot shook his head, with his wistful eyes still upon her face.

A little light-stand, with his medicines and a candle, stood on his left.

Presently he reached out and took a little box from off it, and extended it to Madelon.

She shrank back.
"Take it, Madelon." "No, I don't want it." "Oh, Madelon, take it and open it at least, and let me see you." Madelon took the box, with an impatient gesture, and opened it, and a ring set with a great pearl gleamed on its red velvet cushion.

She closed the box and held it out towards Lot.