m
that she had been considering the matter and had decided she could never
love him enough to become his wife.

It was almost two o'clock when she reached this decision but she sat
down at her desk to write then and there the letter containing it, the
last letter she would ever write him. And when the morning light came
streaming in at the windows she still sat there, the letter unwritten.
She had made many beginnings, but not an end. She must try again; she
was too tired, too nervous, too hopeless and heartbroken to make another
attempt that morning, but before the day was over it should be done.
She threw herself down upon the bed but she could not sleep. Why had
she been selected to bear this burden? What had she done that God should
delight to torture her in this way?

CHAPTER XXV

That difficult letter was never written. In the afternoon, business at
the store being rather quiet and Mrs. Atkins, the nurse, desiring an
hour's leave to do an errand in the village, Mary had taken her place
in the sickroom. Zoeth was improving slowly, so the doctor said, but he
took very little interest in what went on, speaking but seldom,
asking few questions, and seeming to be but partially sensible of his
surroundings. Best not to try to rouse him, the physician said. Little
by little he would gain mentally as well as physically and, by and
by, there was reason to hope, would be up and about again. Probably,
however, he would never be so strong as he had been before his sudden
seizure, the cause of which--if there had been a definite cause--was
still unknown.

Just then he was asleep and Mary, sitting in the rocking-chair by the
bed, was thinking, thinking, thinking. If she could only stop thinking
for a little while! Uncle Zoeth, there on the bed, looked so calm and
peaceful. If only she might have rest and peace again! If she might be
allowed to forget!

The door opened gently and Mr. Chase appeared. He beckoned to her to
come out. With a glance at the patient, she tiptoed from the room into
the hall.

"What is it, Isaiah?" she asked.

Isaiah seemed to be excited about something.

"I've got a surprise for you, Mary-'Gusta," he whispered. "There's
somebody downstairs to see you."

His manner was so important and mysterious that Mary was puzzled.

"Someone to see me?" she repeated. "Who is it?"

Mr. Chase winked.

"It's somebody you wan't expectin' to see, I bet you!" he declared. "I
know I wan't. When I op