She broke from him then, and came rapidly to the house where I received her, and removing the shawls, wet with the heavy dew, rubbed and chafed her cold hands and feet and got her to bed as soon as I could, while in my heart was a dire foreboding of what might follow this excitement and long exposure to the night air, in her already weakened condition. Nor were my forebodings groundless, and Godfrey did not leave home the following day as he meant to do. With his travelling bag and shawl he came past our house on his way to the train and stopped at the door a moment to ask for Gertie, but when I led him to her room where she lay burning with fever and talking of him and his father, and the little hot berth in the steamer where she had been so sick; he put his satchel and shawl in the corner, and drawing his chair near her bedside sat there all day long, while the doctor came in and out and said it was the result of exposure that day on the river, and that with ordinary care he apprehended no danger. Edith, too, came down with Emma, whom I hardly knew with the new happiness shining in her face and making her so sweet and gentle. Both were very anxious about Gertie, and the latter remained all night, and watched with Godfrey, by the sick girl, who paid no heed to either of them, but kept asking for Col. Schuyler. And the next day he came and stood by her, and taking her hot hands in his asked her what she wanted. She seemed to know him, and replied: “To tell you that I have not told a lie. I’ve kept my promise, though it broke my heart to do it, but I could not tell a lie even for the love I have for Godfrey.” I do not know what he said to her, but he was very pale when he came from the sick-room, and he spoke pleasantly to Godfrey, and made no objections to his being there. But he did not come again or see his son, who stayed until Gertie was out of danger. Then he asked to see her for just one moment, but what occurred at the interview I cannot say. I only know that at its close Godfrey’s voice was husky and thick as he wrung my hand, and said: “Farewell, Ettie; be good to her. I don’t know if I’ll ever come home again.” Then he went away, and I found Gertie in a kind of faint, from which she did not recover until long after I heard the whistle of the train which took Godfrey to New York. CHAPTER XLVIII. GIVING IN MARRIAGE.