"Oh, I was never so perplexed before!" said Mary. "I don't know what I _do_ think. I must have time to reflect. And you,--oh, James!--you _must_ let me do right! There will never be any happiness for me, if I do wrong,--nor for you, either." All this while the sounds of running and hurrying in Madame de Frontignac's room had been unintermitted; and Miss Prissy, not without some glimmerings of perception, was holding tight on to Mrs. Scudder's gown, detailing to her a most capital receipt for mending broken china, the history of which she traced regularly through all the families in which she had ever worked, varying the details with small items of family history, and little incidents as to the births, marriages, and deaths of different people for whom it had been employed, with all the particulars of how, where, and when, so that James's time for conversation was by this means indefinitely extended. "Now," he said to Mary, "let me propose one thing. Let _me_ go to the Doctor, and tell him the truth." "James, it does not seem to me that I can. A friend who has been so considerate, so kind, so self-sacrificing and disinterested, and whom I have allowed to go on with this implicit faith in me so long. Should you, James, think of _yourself_ only?" "I do nor, I trust, think of myself only," said James; "I hope that I am calm enough, and have a heart to think for others. But, I ask you, is it doing right to _him_ to let him marry you in ignorance of the state of your feelings? Is it a kindness to a good and noble man to give yourself to him only seemingly, when the best and noblest part of your affections is gone wholly beyond your control? I am quite sure of _that_, Mary. I know you do love him very well,--that you would make a most true, affectionate, constant wife to him; but what I know you feel for me is something wholly out of your power to give to him,--is it not, now?" "I think it is," said Mary, looking gravely and deeply thoughtful "But then, James, I ask myself, 'What if this had happened a week hence?' My feelings would have been just the same, because they are feelings over which I have no more control than over my existence. I can only control the expression of them. But in _that_ case you would not have asked me to break my marriage-vow; and why now shall I break a solemn vow deliberately made before God? If what I can give him will content him, and he never knows that which would give him pain, what wrong is done him?"