With the Duke, the relations of the young man were now of a most cordial character. His kinsman had played a father’s part to him during these past days, and his visits were always welcome in the monotony of sick-room life. “I have been talking to Bride,” said the elder man, as he took his accustomed seat; “we have been talking about your marriage, Eustace, and neither she nor I see why it should be indefinitely postponed. Indeed, there seems good reason for hastening it on, since she can then be your companion and nurse, as is not possible now, greatly as she wishes it. We cannot think of parting with you till you are well and strong once more, and that will not be for some time even at best. Have I your authority to arrange with Mr. St. Aubyn for a marriage here as quickly as it can be arranged? Since your minds are both made up, there appears no reason why Bride should not have the comfort of caring for you and making you her charge. Perhaps you hardly estimate the joy which such a charge is to a woman of her loving nature. But you know her well enough to believe that she never speaks a word that is not literal truth; and as she wishes to have that privilege, I confess I see no legitimate objection.” Eustace had been silent, much as the Duke had been silent when the girl laid her proposal before him. Sheer astonishment and an unbounded sense of his own unworthiness and her almost divine devotion and love held him spellbound for a moment; and when his words came they were tempestuous and contradictory, declaring one moment the thing impossible--Bride’s youth must not be so sacrificed--the next declaring that it was too much happiness, that he dared not accept it, because it was altogether too much joy to contemplate. The Duke let him have his fling, and then took up his word again, imposing silence by a gentle motion of the hand.