ranger like the doctor, and it was not until the old
gentleman absolutely refused to permit Mrs. Wentworth to leave the
house, that he yielded his assent to her remaining.

"As you insist upon it," he remarked, "I make no further opposition to
her remaining, but I think it an imposition on your benevolence that
your home shall be made gloomy by my wife being in it."

"Not in the least gloomy, sir," replied the doctor, "nor do I think it
the slightest imposition upon my benevolence. Were it only to repay
the debt Harry owes you for the preservation of his life, I should
insist upon her not being removed. But I deem it a duty we owe to our
suffering fellow mortals, and as long as she remains in her present
state, so long will she be an inmate of my house, and everything that
can lighten and ameliorate her unhappy condition shall be deemed a
pleasant business to perform."

"I do not doubt it, sir," said Alfred, grasping the doctor's hand and
shaking it heartily, "believe me, the attention of your daughter,
Harry and yourself, has been the oasis in my present desert of life,
and though in a few short weeks I expect all will be over, and she
will no longer need your care, the memory of your kindness in these
gloomy times of sorrow, shall ever remain unfading in memory, and
shall always be spoken of and thought of with the greatest gratitude."

"No gratitude is necessary," answered the doctor as he returned the
pressure of Alfred Wentworth's hand, "I consider myself performing a
sacred duty, both to God and to humanity, and no gratitude is needed
for the faithful performance of the same."

"No, no sir," interrupted Alfred, hastily, "it is no duty, and cannot
be looked upon as such--at least by me."

"Well, well," remarked the doctor, "we will not argue about that. I
only wish it were in my power to do more by giving you assurance that
your wife will recover, but I fear very much she never can."

"How long do you suppose she will linger?" asked Alfred sadly.

"I cannot tell," replied the doctor, "Her strength has been failing
very rapidly for the past week, and I do not think she can last much
longer."

"Could nothing be done to keep her alive, if even it were as a
maniac?" he inquired, and then added, and as he spoke, repressing the
emotion he felt, "Could she but live, it would be some solace to me,
for then I should have her with me, and by procuring a position in
some of the departments, be enabled to remain with