Only for a moment, however, did Dr. Clayton listen, and then laying his head upon the pillow beside that of Rose, who, wearied with her story, had fallen asleep, he wept as he had never wept before, not even when he saw creeping over her the shadow of death. Turn which way he would, there was naught before him save the darkness of despair; and as wave after wave broke over him, his mind went backward to the time when she might have been his—when he could have gathered her to his bosom—and in piteous accents he cried aloud, “My punishment is greater than I can bear.” But as the fiercest storm soonest expends its fury, so he ere long grew calm and capable of sober, serious thought. Rosa Lee was very dear to him, and to have possessed her love, he would have given almost everything; but as that could not be, ought he to stand in the way of her happiness? He knew she was deceived, for he remembered many things he had seen in Mr. Delafield, which, though he had not thought of it then, convinced him now that her affection was reciprocated; and should he not tell her so, and at the same time disclose to Richard the true state of affairs? Rosa’s quiet, unobtrusive, and rather reserved manner had misled Richard, no doubt, or he would long ere this have declared his love. “Yes, God helping me, I _will_ do right,” he said aloud, clasping his hands over his feverish brow. “I will watch by her until _his_ return, and then committing her to his care I will leave her forever.” There was a movement at his side—Rose was dreaming, and she uttered the name of _Richard_, while, with a shiver, the doctor stopped his ears and shut out the hated sound. In a moment she awoke and asked for water. It was brought, but he no longer supported her in his arms—no longer smoothed back the tangled curls from her brow, or kissed her white lips. “She is not mine, and it were wrong to caress her now,” he thought, and his tears fell upon her face as he laid her gently back upon the pillow. Wonderingly she gazed upon him, and lifting her hand, wiped his tears away, asking why he wept. “Heaven help me from going mad,” he exclaimed aloud, as he walked to the window, where for a long time he stood, trying to school himself for the part he was to act. He succeeded at last, and never did a tender brother watch more carefully over a darling sister than did he over her during the few days which elapsed ere Mr. Delafield’s return. He was alone with her when he came, and with comparative calmness he greeted his rival, who, as we have before stated, was surprised at the change in his looks.