"I want you to have this ring--this ring," and a bandaged hand crept out toward Webster's, who took it gently in his own, and stooping down kissed it. "Keep it for my sake," went on those husky tones; "and if you see John Temple--" But the next moment she gave a kind of cry. "What is this? What new pain is this?" she gasped out. "Lift me up--I am choking--lift me up!" Both the doctor and Webster at once raised her in their arms, but after a few gasping sighs, she indicated that she wished to lie back again. "It--is--all over," she murmured; "and--I die as I wished--with my hand in yours." They were her last words; there were a few faint struggles, a few long, low sighs, and then all was still. But to the end Webster kept her poor maimed hand in his, and when it was all over he again bent down and kissed it, and when he raised his head his eyes were dim with unshed tears. * * * * * Late that night he sat alone in his chambers pondering still on how he should act. A hard and bitter struggle was warring in his heart; how hard and bitter he only knew. Unconsciously almost to himself he had begun to hope that some day he would win May Churchill for his wife; that some day she might return his love. He was not a man to love lightly, nor one to change. His feelings were characteristic, strong, and undivided; his life high-toned and pure. Until he had seen May's flower-like face he had loved no woman, and indeed scarcely had given the sex a thought. His profession, his career, had occupied his whole time, and he hardly knew that there lay a hidden fire in his breast, which had kindled and burst forth at the beauty of a country girl. Now he did not deceive himself. He knew during that dark struggle in the midnight hours when Kathleen Weir lay dead, that if he gave May up he gave up also the best hopes of his manhood, the one love of his life. But after a stout fight with the opposing passions of his heart, the nobler part of his nature conquered. "Shall I not give her back happiness at the cost of my own?" he determined. "I will go to him, and if he is a cur, she shall never know; if not--" His face was very gray and pale, but he had made up his mind. He would see John Temple, and he and May must decide their fate. CHAPTER XLIII. STRANGE NEWS. The next day was a wet and dreary one, almost a storm. The wind sighed through the budding trees at Woodlea Hall, and the rain beat against the window panes. A bright fire was, however, burning in the library during the afternoon, and the new master, John Temple, was there, and Mrs. Temple, the widow of the old one. John Temple was smoking endless cigarettes and reading. He was nearly always smoking now, and Mrs. Temple declared she delighted in the smell of tobacco. She in truth delighted to be in John Temple's company, and nearly always contrived to be so.