"Grace, our mutual belief forbids such a thought. If a plant is deeply shadowed, and moisture is withdrawn, it begins to die. Bring to it again light and moisture, the conditions of its life, and it gradually revives and resumes its normal state. This principle applies equally to you in your higher order of existence. Will you promise me that, at the utmost exertion of your will and intelligence, you will try to live?" "Yes, Alford; but again I warn you. You will be disappointed." He kissed both her hands with a manner that evinced profound gratitude and respect, but nothing more; and then summoned his aunt and Dr. Markham. Grace lay back on the sofa, white and faint, with closed eyes. "Oh, Alford, what have you done?" exclaimed Mrs. Mayburn. "What is right and rational. Dr. Markham, Mrs. Hilland has promised to use the utmost exertion of her will and intelligence to live. I ask that you and my aunt employ your utmost skill and intelligence in co-operation with her effort. We here--all four of us--enter upon a battle; and, like all battles, it should be fought with skill and indomitable courage, not sentimental impulse. I know that Mrs. Hilland will honestly make the effort, for she is one to keep her word. Am I not right, Grace?" "Yes," was the faint reply. "Why, now I can go to work with hope," said the physician briskly, as he gave his patient a little stimulant. "And I also," cried the old lady, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, darling Grace, you will live and keep all our hearts from breaking." "I'll try," she said, in almost mortal weariness. When she had been revived somewhat by his restoratives, Dr. Markham said, "I now advise that she be carried back to her room, and I promise to be unwearied in my care." "No," said Graham to his aunt. "Do not call the servants; I shall carry her to her room myself;" and he lifted her as gently as he would take up a child, and bore her strongly and easily to her room. "Poor, poor Alford!" she whispered--"wasting your rich, full heart on a shadow." CHAPTER XXXVI ALL MATERIALISTS When Graham returned to the library he found that the major had tottered in, and was awaiting him with a look of intense anxiety. "Graham, Graham!" he cried, "do you think there is any hope?" "I do, sir. I think there is almost a certainty that your daughter will live." "Now God be praised! although I have little right to say it, for I've put His name to a bad use all my life." "I don't think any harm has been done," said Graham, smiling. "Oh, I know, I know how wise you German students are. You can't find God with a microscope or a telescope, and therefore there is none. But I'm the last man to criticise. Grace has been my divinity since her mother died; and if you can give a reasonable hope that she'll live to close my eyes, I'll thank the God that my wife worshipped, in spite of all your new-fangled philosophies."