n a bed. But one anxiety
troubled his mind. In the roving life which he now enjoyed, it was
impossible that his letters could follow him--and yet, every day that
passed made him more unreasonably eager to hear that Carmina was not
weary of waiting for him, and that all was well at home.

"And how have these vain aspirations of mine ended?"--the letter went
on. "They have ended, my darling, in a journey for one of my guides--an
Indian, whose fidelity I have put to the proof, and whose zeal I have
stimulated by a promise of reward.

"The Indian takes these lines to be posted at Quebec. He is also
provided with an order, authorising my bankers to trust him with the
letters that are waiting for me. I begin a canoe voyage to-morrow; and,
after due consultation with the crew, we have arranged a date and a
place at which my messenger will find me on his return. Shall I confess
my own amiable weakness? or do you know me well enough already to
suspect the truth? My love, I am sorely tempted to be false to my plans
and arrangements to go back with the Indian to Quebec--and to take a
berth in the first steamer that returns to England.

"Don't suppose that I am troubled by any misgivings about what is going
on in my absence! It is one of the good signs of my returning health
that I take the brightest view of our present lives, and of our lives
to come. I feel tempted to go back, for the same reason that makes me
anxious for letters. I want to hear from you, because I love you--I want
to return at once, because I love you. There is longing, unutterable
longing, in my heart. No doubts, my sweet one, and no fears!

"But I was a doctor, before I became a lover. My medical knowledge tells
me that this is an opportunity of thoroughly fortifying my constitution,
and (with God's blessing) of securing to myself reserves of health and
strength which will take us together happily on the way to old age. Dear
love, you must be my wife--not my nurse! There is the thought that gives
me self-denial enough to let the Indian go away by himself."

Carmina answered this letter as soon as she had read it.

Before the mail could carry her reply to its destination, she well knew
that the Indian messenger would be on the way back to his master. But
Ovid had made her so happy that she felt the impulse to write to him at
once, as she might have felt the impulse to answer him at once if he had
been present and speaking to her. When the pages were filled