he can wait."

"But," said I, "your uncle is only little past the prime of life and
appears to be in robust health; it will be years of waiting, Mary."

"I don't know," she muttered, "I think not. Uncle is not as strong as he
looks and--" She did not say any more, horrified perhaps at the turn the
conversation was taking. But there was an expression on her countenance
that set me thinking at the time, and has kept me thinking ever since.

Not that any actual dread of such an occurrence as has since happened
came to oppress my solitude during the long months which now intervened.
I was as yet too much under the spell of her charm to allow anything
calculated to throw a shadow over her image to remain long in my
thoughts. But when, some time in the fall, a letter came to me
personally from Mr. Clavering, filled with a vivid appeal to tell
him something of the woman who, in spite of her vows, doomed him to a
suspense so cruel, and when, on the evening of the same day, a friend
of mine who had just returned from New York spoke of meeting Mary
Leavenworth at some gathering, surrounded by manifest admirers, I began
to realize the alarming features of the affair, and, sitting down, I
wrote her a letter. Not in the strain in which I had been accustomed to
talk to her,--I had not her pleading eyes and trembling, caressing hands
ever before me to beguile my judgment from its proper exercise,--but
honestly and earnestly, telling her how Mr. Clavering felt, and what a
risk she ran in keeping so ardent a lover from his rights. The reply she
sent rather startled me.

"I have put Mr. Robbins out of my calculations for the present, and
advise you to do the same. As for the gentleman himself, I have told him
that when I could receive him I would be careful to notify him. That day
has not yet come.

"But do not let him be discouraged," she added in a postscript. "When he
does receive his happiness, it will be _a_ satisfying one."

_When, _I thought. Ah, it is that _when_ which is likely to ruin all!
But, intent only upon fulfilling her will, I sat down and wrote a letter
to Mr. Clavering, in which I stated what she had said, and begged him
to have patience, adding that I would surely let him know if any change
took place in Mary or her circumstances. And, having despatched it to
his address in London, awaited the development of events.

They were not slow in transpiring. In two weeks I heard of the sudden
death of Mr. Stebbins, th