"You will forgive me," said Leslie, at last, "if my visit is ill-timed, for I am a busy man, ill-versed in the etiquette of such matters. I was in a dilemma. I wished to try and show my sympathy, and I was afraid to stay away for fear of seeming neglectful." "Mr Leslie need have been under no apprehension," said Louise slowly, and speaking as if sorrow had exhausted itself, and there was nothing left but resignation. "My father and I have thought very deeply, and can never be sufficiently grateful for all that has been done." "You have suffered so," he said in a low voice, "that I am going to beg of you not to refer to the past. Of course, I know," he added quickly, "how easy it is to speak platitudes--how hard to express what one feels at a time like this." "Mr Leslie need not speak," said Louise quietly. "He has shown his sympathy in a way that no words can express." Leslie gazed down at the piteous, sorrow-stricken face before him; and, as if wrenching himself away, he walked to the window, and stood gazing out for a few moments while Louise sat watching him, and fighting hard with her emotions. She felt weakened by all that had gone by, and as if, had he extended his arms to her, she could have flown to him, nestled in his breast, and begged him to help her in this terrible strait. And yet all the time her sorrow had strengthened, as well as enfeebled, for she was able to master her weakness, and follow out the course she had planned. Leslie returned to her side. "I must speak," he said hoarsely. "It is not cruelty at a time like this; it is the desire to help, to console, to be near you in distress. Miss Vine--Louise--you--forgive me for saying it--you must have known that for months past I have loved you." She looked up at him wistfully, and there was a look of such pain and sorrow in her eyes that he paused, and took the hand which she resigned to him without shrinking, but only to send a thrill of pain through him, for the act was not that of one accepting the offer of his love. "Yes," she said, after a painful pause, "I did think that you must care for me." "As I do," he whispered earnestly, "and this is my excuse for speaking now. No: don't shrink from me. I only ask you to think of me as one whose sole thought is of you, and of how he may help and serve you." "You have helped us in every way," she said sadly. "I have tried so hard," he said huskily; "but everything has seemed little compared to what I wished; and now--it is all I ask: you will let this formal barrier between us be cast away, so that in everything I may be your help and counsellor. Louise, it is no time to talk of love," he cried earnestly, "and my wooing is that of a rough, blunt man; and-- don't shrink from me--only tell me that some day, when all this pain and suffering has been softened by time, I may ask you to listen to me; and that now I may go away feeling you believe in my love and sympathy. You will tell me this?"