if not, I shall take her to London for advice at once."

On this understanding they parted, and Lusignan went at once to his
daughter. "O my child!" said he, deeply distressed, "how could you hide
this from me?"

"Hide what, papa?" said the girl, looking the picture of
unconsciousness.

"That you have been spitting blood."

"Who told you that?" said she, sharply.

"Wyman. He is attending you."

Rosa colored with anger. "Chatterbox! He promised me faithfully not to."

"But why, in Heaven's name? What! would you trust this terrible thing to
a stranger, and hide it from your poor father?"

"Yes," replied Rosa, quietly.

The old man would not scold her now; he only said, sadly, "I see how it
is: because I will not let you marry poverty, you think I do not love
you." And he sighed.

"O papa! the idea!" said Rosa. "Of course, I know you love me. It was
not that, you dear, darling, foolish papa. There! if you must know, it
was because I did not want you to be distressed. I thought I might get
better with a little physic; and, if not, why, then I thought, 'Papa is