considered myself, do you think I would hold back my own honor?"

"A poor honor," she said, "that I sit comfortably at home and love you,
while you are face to face with death!"

Martha Deane's resolution was inflexibly taken. That same evening she
went into the sitting-room, where her father was smoking a pipe before
the open stove, and placed her chair opposite to his.

"Father," she said, "thee has never asked any questions concerning
Alfred Barton's visit."

The Doctor started, and looked at her keenly, before replying. Her voice
had its simple, natural tone, her manner was calm and self-possessed;
yet something in her firm, erect posture and steady eye impressed him
with the idea that she had determined on a full and final discussion of
the question.

"No, child," he answered, after a pause. "I saw Alfred, and he said thee
was rather taken by surprise. He thought, perhaps, thee didn't rightly
know thy own mind, and it would be better to wait a little. That is the
chief reason why I haven't spoken to thee."

"If Alfred Barton said that, he told thee false," said she. "I knew my
own mind, as well then as now. I said to him that nothing could ever
make me his wife."

"Martha!" the Doctor exclaimed, "don't be hasty! If Alfred is a little
older"--