"'I was beforehand, and he had no chance,' David went on, 'but he is my superior in everything'--he was always so humble in his own estimation, dear fellow. 'Father, Malcolm Herrick worships the ground she walks on. One day he must have his reward.'" "Oh, hush--hush, for pity's sake," and Elizabeth stretched out her hand to stop him, but he detained it gently. "Elizabeth, three years are long enough for mourning, and Mr. Herrick has been very patient. Why should another life be spoiled? Why should you doom him as well as yourself to loneliness? I have not forgotten his look that evening when you were singing to us--it was the look of a man who is starving for a little happiness, for the comfort and sweet sustenance that only a wife can give him. There, I will say no more--I have discharged my conscience, and repeated my boy's words. I trust they have not been spoken in vain." His hand rested lightly on her head for a moment as though in blessing, but no word escaped his lips. Then he rose, and after a moment Elizabeth joined him, and they walked back silently together. "You are not vexed with me, my dear?" he asked anxiously, when they parted at the gate of Rowan Cottage. Then Elizabeth raised her sad eyes to his. "Why should I be vexed? You are always so kind--so kind; but you have said things that have troubled me;" and she left him, and walked on rapidly until she found herself in the familiar woodland path, and then she unconsciously slackened her pace. She felt strangely shaken and agitated. The words her old friend had spoken had thrilled her as though by an electric shock. It was a message from the dead. Half-involuntarily she sank down on the bank in the very spot where Malcolm had picked the honeysuckle. She knew what it was to be tired now--for the moment she felt weak and powerless as a little child. Over and over again she repeated dumbly Mr. Carlyon's words. How could she doubt that David had spoken them when he had tried with loving unselfishness to say them to her! Would she ever forget the tender solemnity of his manner?-- "Elizabeth, life is long as you say, and your great loving heart must not remain unsatisfied. Do not mourn for me too long--do not refuse comfort that may be offered to you, if you can be happy, dear;" but she had stopped him, and he could say no more. Truly, as his father had said, "living or dying she had been his one thought." "Oh, how good you were to me, David!" she whispered. She rose and paced restlessly to and fro, while a bright-eyed robin watched her from a hazel twig; for other words besides David's were haunting her, and had been haunting her for two years, thought she had vainly tried to forget them. Sometimes she would wake from sleep with her heart beating, and those sad, reproachful words sounding in her ears--