"Oh, I was never so perplexed before!" said Mary. "I don't know what I
_do_ think. I must have time to reflect. And you,--oh, James!--you
_must_ let me do right! There will never be any happiness for me, if I
do wrong,--nor for you, either."

All this while the sounds of running and hurrying in Madame de
Frontignac's room had been unintermitted; and Miss Prissy, not without
some glimmerings of perception, was holding tight on to Mrs. Scudder's
gown, detailing to her a most capital receipt for mending broken china,
the history of which she traced regularly through all the families in
which she had ever worked, varying the details with small items of
family history, and little incidents as to the births, marriages, and
deaths of different people for whom it had been employed, with all the
particulars of how, where, and when, so that James's time for
conversation was by this means indefinitely extended.

"Now," he said to Mary, "let me propose one thing. Let _me_ go to the
Doctor, and tell him the truth."

"James, it does not seem to me that I can. A friend who has been so
considerate, so kind, so self-sacrificing and disinterested, and whom I
have allowed to go on with this implicit faith in me so long. Should
you, James, think of _yourself_ only?"

"I do nor, I trust, think of myself only," said James; "I hope that I
am calm enough, and have a heart to think for others. But, I ask you,
is it doing right to _him_ to let him marry you in ignorance of the
state of your feelings? Is it a kindness to a good and noble man to
give yourself to him only seemingly, when the best and noblest part of