"And yet you won’t be rich," said Alice, with meaning. Doris coloured a little. "How can I?" she asked, "when there is Bernard?" "Perhaps he would like to be rich, too?" suggested Alice. "What do you mean?" "Well, _do_ you think it would be best for him to marry you, and plunge both himself and you into poverty?" asked Alice. "You talk as his mother did," sighed Doris. "After all, there was commonsense in her view of the matter," persisted Alice. "What is the use of two young people marrying, and living in poverty ever after, when they may both be rich and happy if they will?" "Riches and happiness do not always go together." "I don’t think poverty and happiness do," said Alice, curtly. Doris felt a little shaken. Would it really be better for Bernard and she to be true to each other, when their marriage would only mean poverty and anxiety? Norman came again that afternoon when Alice had gone. "Doris," he said, when they were conversing in Mrs. Austin’s back parlour, "perhaps, as Cameron has been so long in writing, he may have ceased to care for you." "Perhaps so indeed!" rejoined Doris, with a sigh. "Couldn’t you ascertain whether it is so?" suggested the other. "Yes--if he will answer me; but--I don’t know how it is--I receive no answer to my letters," faltered the girl. "Is there no one else to whom you can write in Yorkshire--I mean, so that you can get to know his feeling about you?" "There’s only Susan Gaunt, our old servant, I might write to her; but I scarcely think that she can do anything, though she has known him since he was a boy, and he is always nice to her, and talks to her quite freely." "Well, ask her about him. And write to him, too, once more, asking him straight out if he has changed towards you." "I think I will," said Doris. "It can do no harm." She accordingly wrote that evening both to Susan and to Bernard. The old servant answered immediately. Her letter was as follows: "MY PRECIOUS MISS DORIS, "At last you send me your address, and I hasten to write these few lines to ask if you are well, as this doesn’t leave me so at present. "My heart is very bad, dearie, and the doctor says I may die quite suddenly any time. Well, I’ve always liked that verse-- Sudden as thought is the death I would die-- I would suddenly lay these shackles by, Nor feel a single pang at parting, Or see the tear of sorrow starting, Nor feel the hands of love that hold me, Nor hear the trembling words that bless me; So would I die, Not slain, but caught up, as it were, To meet my Captain in the air. So would I die All joy without a pang to cloud it; All bliss without a pain to spoil it, Even so, I long to go: These parting hours how sad and slow!