bitual, like his
black frock-coat and general sobriety of attire. "I have seen wonderful
recoveries--or rather a wonderful prolongation of life, for cure is, of
course, impossible--in cases as bad as this. But----"

"Ah!" cried the Captain, bitterly, "there is a 'but.'"

"In this case there is a sad want of rallying power. Frankly, I have
very little hope. Do all you can to cheer and comfort your wife's mind,
and to make her last days happy. All medicine apart, that is about the
best advice I can give you."

After this the doctor took his fee, gave the Captain's hand a cordial
grip, expressive of sympathy and kindliness, and went his way, feeling
assured that a good deal hung upon that little life which he had left
slowly ebbing away, like a narrow rivulet dwindling into dryness under
a July sun.

"What does the London doctor say of me, Conrad?" asked Mrs. Winstanley,
when her husband went to her presently, with his countenance composed
and cheerful. "He tired me dreadfully with his stethoscope. Does he
think me very ill? Is there anything wrong with my lungs?"

"No, love. It is a case of weakness and languor. You must make up your
mind to get strong; and you will do more for yourself than all the
physicians in London can do."

"But what does he say of my heart? How does he explain that dreadful
fluttering--the suffocating sensation--the----?'

"He explains nothing. It is a nervous affection, which you must combat
by getting strong. Dear love!" exclaimed the Captain, with a very real
burst of feeling, "what can I do to make your life happy? what can I do
to assure you of my love?"

"Send for Violet," faltered his wife, raising herself upon her elbow,
and looking at him with timorous eagerness. "I have never been happy
since she left us. It seems as if I had turned her out of doors--out of
her own house--my kind husband's only daughter. It has preyed upon my
mind continually, that--and other things."

"Dearest, I will telegraph to her in an hour. She shall be with you as
soon as the steamer can bring her."

"A thousand thanks, Conrad. You are always good. I know I have been
weak and foolish to think----"

Here she hesitated, and tears began to roll down her hollow cheeks.

"To think what, love?" asked her husband tenderly.

If love, if tenderness, if flattery, if all sweetest things that ever
man said to a woman could lure this feeble spirit back to life, she
should be so won, vowed the Captain. He had ne