startling to her, when, on
rising, Humfrey gravely said, 'Honor, will you come into my study for a
little while?'

The study had always been more of a place for guns and fishing-tackle
than for books. It was Humfrey's usual living room when alone, and was
of course full besides of justice books, agricultural reports, acts of
parliament, piles of papers, little bags of samples of wheat, all in the
orderly disorder congenial to the male kind. All this was as usual, but
the change that struck her was, that the large red leather lounging
chair, hitherto a receptacle for the overflowings of the table, was now
wheeled beside the fire, and near it stood a little table with a large
print Bible on it, which she well remembered as his mother's. Humfrey
set a chair for her by the fire, and seated himself in the easy one,
leaning back a little. She had not spoken. Something in his grave
preparation somewhat awed her, and she sat upright, watching him.

'It was very kind of you to come, Honor,' he began; 'more kind than you
know.'

'I am sure it could be no other than a treat--'

He continued, before she could go farther, 'I wished particularly to
speak to you. I thought it might perhaps spare you a shock.'

She looked at him with a terrified eye.

'Don't be frightened, my dear,' he said, leaning forward, 'there is no
occasion. Such things must come sooner or later, and it is only that I
wished to tell you that I have been having advice for a good many
uncomfortable feelings that have troubled me lately.'

'Well?' she asked, breathlessly.

'And Dixon tells me that it is aneurism.'

Quick and fast came Honora's breath; her hands were clasped together; her
eyes cast about with such a piteous, despairing expression, that he
started to his feet in a moment, exclaiming--'Honor! Honor dear! don't!
there's no need. I did not think you would feel it in this way!'

'Feel! what should I feel if not for you? Oh! Humfrey! don't say it! you
are all that is left me--you cannot be spared!' and as he came towards
her, she grasped his hand and clung to him, needing the support which he
gave in fear of her fainting.

'Dear Honor, do not take it thus. I am very well now--I dare say I shall
be so to the last, and there is nothing terrible to the imagination. I
am very thankful for both the preparation and the absence of suffering.
Will not you be the same?'

'Yes, you,' said Honora, sitting up again, and looking up into his