“What is it you want me to do, mother?” asks poor Frank, piteously. “Not marry her! I have no love to offer any woman now. My heart is crushed and broken, and a dozen Mary Burtons couldn’t mend it.” “I know that, Frank, dear,” replied his mother, very sweetly, “but if you have a broken heart to carry about with you, it should teach you to be very tender to the broken hearts of others, especially to so good and true a heart as Mary’s. A few kind words to her just now would make her, if not happy, at any rate a little less miserable than she is now.” “Tell me what to say, then,” said Frank, wearily, “and let me say it at once. You don’t want me to ask her to marry me? The words would choke me, I think.” “No, my son, not that. I only want you to thank her for her kindness and care through your illness (for, indeed, she has nearly worn herself out in saving your life), and I want you just to say four little words to her. ‘Don’t leave us, Mary.’ This for your mother’s sake, for what could I do without her? May I send her to you, Frank?” she added, after a pause. Then Frank, wearied with the discussion, gave a feeble assent, and Mrs. Varley left the room immediately, thankful for her partial success, and hoping much from the coming interview between her son and Mary. Very softly Mary entered the room, and went straight up to Frank. Then, for the first time, he noticed how pale and sad the girl had grown. “How white you are looking, Mary,” he said, kindly. “Are you feeling ill? Will you take my chair a moment?” at the same time attempting to rise. “No, no,” said Mary in an instant, flushing scarlet, “you are still an invalid, and must not think of politeness. Mrs. Varley said you wanted to see me. What is it, Frank?” “Mary,” he said, taking both her hands in his, “I want to ask you to forgive my abominable rudeness and ingratitude to you. I want to thank you for all you have done for me. I am so ashamed I have not done this before, but I have been so miserable, so broken-hearted.” Then the poor fellow broke down utterly, and weakened by his long illness and unable to control himself, covered his face with his hands, and wept and sobbed like a child. “Frank, Frank,” pleaded Mary. “For all our sakes restrain yourself; you will kill me if you give way like this. What can I do for you? I would lay down my life to give you an hour’s happiness.” Still Frank sobbed on, and Mary, bending over him as a mother would over a sick child, drew his head on to her shoulder, and soothed and comforted him. Gradually the passion of his grief subsided, and he lay back, with his head on her shoulder, worn out and exhausted. Then Mrs. Varley gently turned the handle of the door, and entered the room. “Thank God for this,” she exclaimed. “Mary, don’t move. Frank, dear, she is the one wife out of all the world you should have chosen, and you may well be thankful to have won such an one. God bless you both. I will write to your father to-night.”