But now, if the pressure of narrow means were removed, if, after all, he were his uncle's heir--as he verily believed himself to be--might he not venture to plead his cause at last? His health was better, and his doctor had often told him, half seriously and half in joke, that all he needed was a good wife to take care of him. 'I shall never be as strong as other men,' he said to himself; 'some women might object to me on that score. But she is not that sort: she loves to take care of people, to feel herself necessary to them.' And here a smile came to his lips. 'I have never spoken to her, never dropped a hint of my feelings; but, somehow, I do not think she would be surprised if I ever told them--we have been so much to each other. I think I could teach her to love me in time--at least, I would try, my sweet.' And here there was a sudden gleam and fire in his eyes, and then he took up Audrey's letter, and began to read it. But when he had finished the first sentence, a curious dull feeling came over him, and he found that he could not understand what he was reading; he must go over the passage again. But as he re-read it the same numbness and impossibility of comprehension came over him; and yet the words were very clearly written: 'Shall you be very much surprised, my dear Michael, to hear some news I have to tell you? I am engaged to Mr. Blake. I will tell you all about it presently, just as though you were my father-confessor; I will not hide one little thing from you. But I was never one to beat about the bush, and I hope my abruptness has not made you jump; but oh, Michael dear, I am so happy!' etc. He read this sentence half a dozen times, until something of its meaning had taken hold of his dense brain; and then he read the letter straight through to the very end, slowly, and often pausing over a sentence that seemed to him a little involved. And as he read there was a pinched gray look upon his face, as though some sudden illness had seized him; but he was not conscious of any active pain, though the whole plan and purpose of his life lay crushed in the dust before him, like the chrysanthemum that Booty was tearing, petal by petal, until his master's coat-sleeve was covered with golden-brown shreds. On the contrary, as he sat there, holding the letter between his limp hands, his mind wandered off to a story he had once read. Was it the wreck of the _Royal George_, he wondered? The name of the vessel had escaped him, but he knew the story was a true one; it had really happened. He had read how the vessel was doomed. She was a troop-ship, and there were hundreds of brave English soldiers on board; and when they knew there was no hope, the officers drew up their men on the deck, just as though they were on parade; and the gallant fellows stood there, in rank and file, as they went down to their watery grave.