"There is no letter, but not for want of thought, I assure you. Your cousin felt that you would rather not hear from him. He said I could convey his wishes to you; in short, his wishes are yours. There is just one thing more. If you elect to postpone the--the marriage for a year, I have made arrangements to supply you with funds to live on at the Priory with your family." I sat very still. I don't know why, but my silence and almost apathy began to irritate Mr Gray very much. I felt that he was looking at me impatiently. I even heard him sigh. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "What answer am I to take to Tom Valentine?" he asked. Then I raised my head. "Tell him to come to see me," I said. "Good gracious! Do you mean it?" "I do mean it." "When is he to come?" "To-night, if he likes--the sooner the better." I rushed away, I flew up the wide stairs. My one desire was to take refuge in my mother's room. A wide bay-window faced the sofa where she lay. The sun had set more than half an hour ago, but faint rose tints still lingered in the sky, and a full moon was showing her cold but brilliant face. The weather was turning quite genial and spring-like. Under ordinary circumstances I should not have cared to sit so near the fire. Now I huddled up to it, glad of its warmth, for I was shivering slightly, with the queerest mixture of suppressed excitement, despair, and yet gladness. Now and then I glanced at my mother. From where she lay I could only see a dim outline of her figure. She was lying very still; her hands were peacefully folded by her side; her breathing came gently; there was repose about her attitude. Her voice, very sweet and clear, soon broke the silence. "Rose, come here, darling." I sprang up, ran to her, and knelt by her side. My mother often called me in this way, not because she had anything special to say, but because she liked to feel my firm young hand clasping hers. She laid her fingers in mine now, and turned her soft brown eyes to catch the outline of my face. "Mother!" I exclaimed with sudden passion, "in all the wide world you are to me the very sweetest, the dearest, the best." Tears trembled in my voice, and almost choked me. I hated myself for giving way. My mother kept on looking at me. She softly patted the hand which held one of hers. It was not in her to express her feelings except by that gentlest of touches. "And if you die, I shall die," I continued. "Mother, you must get better--you must live, you must!" "It is as God wills, my darling." "That is just it, mother. He would not have made us rich if He did not will that you are to live. Poverty and care were killing you. Now they have folded their wings, and gone away. You will always be rich in the future; you will always have the most nourishing food, the softest care, the tenderest love. Don't you think you can nestle down into the love and the care, mother? Don't you think you can try?"