his knee.

He read the invitations first, and then threw them aside.

'I shall be at Rutherford,' he thought; and then he opened his Indian
letter.

It was from a fellow-officer, and contained an amusing account of a
visit he had lately paid to Calcutta. Just at the end it said: 'By the
bye, somebody told me the other day that your uncle, Mr. Carlisle, was
ill. He has got a nasty attack, and the doctors are shaking their heads
over him. The fellow who told me--it was Donarton--mentioned that you
were likely to take a lively interest in the news. Is that true, old
man, or has Mr. Carlisle any nearer relative than yourself? From what I
hear, he is a sort of nabob in these parts.'

Captain Burnett put down this letter, and looked dreamily out of the
window. Was it really so, he wondered? Major Glenyow was not the sort of
fellow to mention a mere report. His uncle was by no means an old man,
and once or twice a rumour of his intended marriage had reached his
ears, but it had never been verified. If it were true that his uncle
were in a bad way, that he should not recover, then, indeed, there was a
possibility. And here, in spite of himself, Michael fell into a
day-dream.

If he were rich, if he had sufficient to offer a comfortable home and
some of the luxuries of life to the woman he wished to make his wife,
would it be right for him to speak? For years his poverty and ill-health
had kept him silent; he had made no sign: he had been her faithful
friend and cousin--that was all!

But now, if the pressure of narrow means were removed, if, after all, he
were his uncle's heir--as he verily believed himself to be--might he not
venture to plead his cause at last? His health was better, and his
doctor had often told him, half seriously and half in joke, that all he
needed was a good wife to take care of him.

'I shall never be as strong as other men,' he said to himself; 'some
women might object to me on that score. But she is not that sort: she
loves to take care of people, to feel herself necessary to them.' And
here a smile came to his lips. 'I have never spoken to her, never
dropped a hint of my feelings; but, somehow, I do not think she would be
surprised if I ever told them--we have been so much to each other. I
think I could teach her to love me in time--at least, I would try, my
sweet.' And here there was a sudden gleam and fire in his eyes, and then
he took up Audrey's letter, and began to read it.

But when h