thought the greatest caution necessary. Grace
waited for him at the inn in an agony of suspense. She watched at the
window for him, and at last she saw him coming toward her. His head
was down, and she could not read his face, or she could have told in a
moment whether he brought good news or bad.

She waited for him, erect but trembling. He opened the door, and stood
before her, pale and agitated--so pale and agitated she had never seen
him before.

He faltered out, "She knows nothing. She must know nothing. She is too
ill and weak, and, indeed, in such a condition that to tell her the
fatal news would probably have killed her on the spot. All I dared do
was to ask her with assumed indifference if she had heard from Henry
lately. No, Grace, not for these three days."

He sat down and groaned aloud.

"You love the son," said he, "but I love the mother: loved her years
before you were born."

At this unexpected revelation Grace Carden kissed him, and wept on his
shoulder. Then they went sadly home again.

Doctor Amboyne now gave up all hopes of Henry, and his anxiety was
concentrated on Mrs. Little. How on earth was he to save her from a
shock likely to prove fatal in her weak condition? To bring her to
Hillsborough in her present state would be fatal. He was compelled to
leave her in Wales, and that looked so like abandoning her. He suffered
torture, the torture that only noble minds can know. At midnight, as he
lay in bed, and revolved in his mind all the difficulties and perils of
this pitiable situation, an idea struck him. He would try and persuade
Mrs. Little to marry him. Should she consent, he could then take her
on a wedding-tour, and that tour he could easily extend from place to
place, putting off the evil time until, strong in health and conjugal
affection, she might be able to endure the terrible, the inevitable
blow. The very next morning he wrote her an eloquent letter; he told her
that Henry had gone suddenly off to Australia to sell his patents; that
almost his last word had been, "My mother! I leave her to you." This,
said the doctor, is a sacred commission; and how can I execute it? I
cannot invite you to Hillsborough, for the air is fatal to you. Think of
your half-promise, and my many years of devotion, and give me the right
to carry out your son's wishes to the full.

Mrs. Little replied to this letter, and the result of the correspondence
was this: she said she would marry him if she could