"Where are you going so early, Miriam?"
"To Colonel Thornton's."
"What? Before breakfast?"
"Yes."
He took both of her hands, and looked into her face—her pallid face—with all the color concentrated in a dark crimson spot upon either cheek—with all the life burning deep down in the contracted pupils of the eyes.
"Miriam, you are not well—come, go into the parlor," he said, and attempted to draw her toward the door.
"No, Paul, no! I must go out," she said, resisting his efforts.
"But why?"
"What is it to you? Let me go."
"It is everything to me, Miriam, because I suspect your errand. Come into the parlor. This madness must not go on."