"But you are better now, Travice. You will get well. Thank God!" "Yes, the danger's over. I feel that, myself. Dear father! how troubled you have been!" "Travice, I could hardly have borne to lose you," he murmured, leaning over him. "And--_thus_." "I shall soon be well again; soon be strong. Be stronger, I hope," and Travice faintly pressed the hand in which his lay, "to go through the duties that lie before me, than I was previously." Mr. Arkell sighed from the very depths of his heart. If his son could but have looked forward to arise to a life of peace, instead of pain! Mildred was with the invalid often. Mrs. Dundyke, who, concerned at the imminent danger of one in whom she had always considered that she held a right, had hastened to Westerbury when the news was sent to her, likewise used to go and sit with him. But not Lucy. It was instinctively felt by all that the sight of Lucy could only bring the future more palpably before him. It might have been so different! Mrs. Dundyke saw Mr. Arkell in private. "Is there _no_ escape for him?" she asked; "no escape from this marriage with Miss Fauntleroy? I would give all I am worth to effect it." "And I would give my life," was the agitated answer. "There is none. Honour must be kept before all things. Travice himself knows there is none; neither would he accept any, were it offered out of the line of strict honour." "It is a life's sacrifice," said Mrs. Dundyke. "It is sacrificing both him and Lucy." "Had I possessed but the faintest idea of the sacrifice it really was, even for him, it should never have been contemplated, no matter what the cost," was Mr. Arkell's answer. "And there was no need of it. If you had but known that! My fortune is a large one now, and the greater portion of it I intended for Travice." "Betsey!" "I intended it for no one else. Perhaps I ought to have been more open in expressing my intentions; but you know how I have been held aloof by Charlotte. And I did not suppose that Travice was in necessity of any sort. If he marries Miss Fauntleroy, the half of what I die possessed of will be his; the other half will go to Lucy Arkell. Were it possible that he could marry Lucy, they'd not wait for my death to be placed above the frowns of the world." "Oh Betsey, how generous you are! But there is no escape for him," added Mr. Arkell, with a groan at the bitter fact. "He cannot desert Miss Fauntleroy." It was indisputably true. And that buxom bride-elect herself seemed to have no idea that anybody wanted to be off the bargain, for her visits to the house were frequent, and her spirits were unusually high.