Eddie mopped his brow. "You--you don't mean it! See here, doctor, you ought to advise very strongly against the--er--marriage at this time. Tell her it would kill her. The shock, I mean. I am willing to wait--GOD KNOWS, I am only too willing to wait--until she is strong and well and herself once more. Tell her--" "Perhaps you would better talk it over with her father, Mr. Ten Eyck. I am not--" "Her father--" began Eddie, but caught himself up. "I would not answer for her safety if a postponement were even suggested. Her heart is set on it, my dear fellow. She will be strong enough to go through with it." "But I want to be married in church." "I daresay you will agree with me when I say that your feelings are not to be considered in a crisis of this kind," said the doctor coldly, and moved away. At noon on the eleventh Martha awoke from a sound and restful sleep. Sweet lassitude enveloped her, but her mind went groping for something that had been troubling her in a vague sort of way for the last forty-eight hours. "Is it the eleventh?" she whispered, stretching out her hand to the watchful nurse. "Yes, my dear. Now try to go to sleep again--" "Where is Mr. Ten Eyck?" "Sh!" "What time is it!" "Now don't worry about the time--" "Is it night or day?" "It is noon." "I am to be married at eight o'clock this evening, Miss Feeney." "Yes, yes, I know," soothingly. "You might send word to Mr. Ten Eyck that I shall be ready. He may forget the ring unless you tell him that--there--is--to be--no post--" She went to sleep in the middle of postponement. While the nurses were preparing her for the ceremony, General Gamble sent word into the sick-room that the doctor desired her correct weight--for scientific purposes. The patient, too weak to help herself, was lifted upon the scales, where she remained long enough for it to be seen that she weighed seventy-three pounds and eight ounces. She was then hustled into bed, but seemed to be in even better spirits than before, confiding to the nurses that she knew Mr. Ten Eyck was partial to slender women, and that if she had anything to do with it she'd never weigh more than one hundred and ten again, "as long as she lived." "One hundred and ten is a lovely weight, don't you think, Miss Feeney!" she asked. Miss Feeney was feeling her pulse. The other nurse was trying to stick a mouth thermometer between the patient's lips. "It is a much lovelier weight than seventy-three," said Miss Feeney gently. The General, in the privacy of his bed-chamber, reduced the pounds to ounces and found that Martha, in her present state, represented eight hundred and eighty-four ounces. He could not suppress a chuckle, even though he felt very mean about it. She was worth $16,972 in gold. Her illness had cost him approximately $2,000 in doctors' fees, et cetera, but it had cost Eddie Ten Eyck $21,911 in pure gold, with twenty cents over in silver.