"I did, my child," she replied, "a very hard fight, and it was at a time when I used to think that it would have been better to have lain down and died, as just one year before, my poor husband had closed his eyes." "How well lean recall it all," she said dreamily, "long as it is ago. You told me your little life Grace, let me tell you mine. Did I ever say to you that Mr Grainger was a clergyman?" "Yes," I said, watching her intently, "you told me so." "Poor fellow!" she said with a sigh, "he asked me quite suddenly one day to be his wife. "I was astounded, and yet pleased, and in a moment I had said quietly that it was impossible. "Mr Grainger rose from his seat, looking inexpressibly pained, and walked slowly up and down the room, while I sat back in my chair by the window, with my heart beating violently, and a sense of suffocation upon me that was absolutely painful. But I was pained, too, for him: grieved that he should ever have asked me--more than grieved to have caused him sorrow. For in his suffering he looked so calm and gentle--he, the tall, stalwart man, with his fast-greying hair, and countenance marked with the lines printed by maturing age and thought. He had been so kind and friendly, too, ever since he had been at the parsonage, and in our daily work we had been drawn so imperceptibly together, that I had hoped ours was to be a firm and lasting friendship; and now this meeting seemed to have brought it to an abrupt conclusion. Suddenly he stopped before me again, and stood looking down, while I crouched there almost fascinated by his gaze. "`Miss Denison--Laura,' he said, in a low soft voice, `you must forgive me, and if you cannot accede to my proposal, let us be as we have been during the past happy year.' "I tried to speak, but he held up his hand. "`Hear me out, dear friend,' he said, `and let me speak again, for I still hope that I may have taken you by surprise. I have known you now for a year.' "I tried to speak once more--to beg of him that he would let me leave the room--that he would bring our interview to an end; but my heart went on still with its heavy beat, and the suffocating sensation was still at my throat, so that I half lay there with my eyes closed, listening to his words, every one of which seemed to wake an echo, and increase the heavy throbbing of my heart. "`I had a love-dream once,' he said; and his voice became very rich and soft. `I was tutor in a noble house. There was a daughter there whom I could have loved, had I but dared. Honour, position, all forbade it. She was heiress to thirty thousand pounds, and I was the young tutor to whose care the education of her brother had been trusted. She never knew my fancy, and I saw her married to a nobleman--happily, I hoped-- while I--I returned to my books.'