d I am sure you exonerate me,
Martin?"

"Quite, quite," I said, almost laughing at his contrition; "I should
never have married Julia, believe me; and I am delighted that she is
going to be married, especially to an old friend like you. I shall make
your house my home."

"Do, Martin," he answered, his face brightening; "and now I am come to
ask you a great favor--a favor to us all."

"I'll do it, I promise that beforehand," I said.

"We have all set our hearts on your being my best man," he replied--"at
the wedding, you know. Johanna says nothing will convince the Guernsey
people that we are all good friends except that. It will have a queer
look, but if you are there everybody will be satisfied that you do not
blame either Julia or me. I know it will be hard for you, dear Martin,
because of your poor mother, and your father being in Guernsey still;
but if you can conquer that, for our sakes, you would make us every one
perfectly happy."

I had not expected them to ask this; but, when I came to think of it, it
seemed very natural and reasonable. There was no motive strong enough to
make me refuse to go to Julia's wedding; so I arranged to be with them
the last week in July.

About ten days before going, I ran down to the little village on the
Sussex coast to visit Foster, from whom, or from his wife, I had
received a letter regularly three times a week. I found him as near
complete health as he could ever expect to be, and I told him so; but I
impressed upon him the urgent necessity of keeping himself quiet and
unexcited. He listened with that cool, taunting sneer which had always
irritated me.

"Ah! you doctors are like mothers," he said, "who try to frighten their
children with bogies. A doctor is a good crutch to lean upon when one is
quite lame, but I shall be glad to dispense with my crutch as soon as my
lameness is gone."

"Very good," I replied; "you know your life is of no value to me. I have
simply done my duty by you."

"Your mother, Mrs. Dobree, wrote to me this week." he remarked, smiling
as I winced at the utterance of that name; "she tells me there is to be
a grand wedding in Guernsey; that of your _fiancee_, Julia Dobree, with
Captain Carey. You are to be present, so she says."

"Yes," I replied.

"It will be a pleasure to you to revisit your native island," he said,
"particularly under such circumstances."

I took no notice of the taunt. My conversation with this man invariably
led to fu