Hazel looked half stupidly in her face for a moment; then, with a candor
which was part of his character, replied, doggedly, "Yes, the man who
wrote that letter loves you."

"Then you can pity him, and I may venture to ask you the favor to-- It
will be a bitter grief and disappointment to him. Will you break it to
him as gently as you can; will you say that his Helen-- Will you tell him
what I have told you?"

"I decline."

This point-blank refusal surprised Helen Rolleston; all the more that it
was uttered with a certain sullenness, and even asperity, she had never
seen till then in this gentle clergyman.

It made her fear she had done wrong in asking it; and she looked ashamed
and distressed.

However, the explanation soon followed.

"My business," said he, "is to prolong your precious life; and making up
your mind to die is not the way. You shall have no encouragement in such
weakness from me. Pray let me be your physician."

"Thank you," said Helen, coldly; "I have my own physician."

"No doubt; but he shows me his incapacity by allowing you to live on
pastry and sweets, things that are utter poison to you. Disease of the
lungs is curable, but not by drugs and unwholesome food."