"How noble he is!" she exclaimed. "Yes, indeed! When I discovered the truth, I determined to take care of Harold and myself in the future. Other women have done it, and there must be some way. But when I was most troubled, George asked me--to marry him!" She paused a moment and dropped her eyes abashed,--as if the thought was almost an accusation to herself. It is well that she did not see Edith's quick flush, which receding, left her paler than ever. "I never have dreamed of marrying again. It would be impossible to ever forget Will. I meant to be true to Will's memory and live my life for Harold. But George's persuasion gained my consent. Do you think that it would be wrong to marry without the proverbial love?" "Yes," answered Edith in low, eager voice. "How could you accept such a noble heart and give so little in return?" "You are mistaken. George is giving me no more than what I am giving to him. Suppose his heart is buried in a lost affection, and I am really helping him, as he is helping me, to overcome a never forgotten agony of regret? He possesses almost the love of a father for Harold, and pleads the opportunity to care for him. Have I then done wrong?" As she asked the question, she looked up at Edith, with a slight hesitancy. Edith lay seemingly thoughtful with half-closed eyes. She was in reality trying to compose herself before replying. "I think, under such circumstances you are doing right, especially by Harold," Edith at last replied, looking up, her eyes luminous with excitement. "Such a friend will be a perfect husband, Alma!" she exclaimed earnestly. "Such a friend will be a perfect friend always, Edith," Alma returned firmly. "None shall ever take my dear Will's place. Walter understands that and is satisfied. You will think me a strange woman," she added. "No, I think that I understand. You will always give the best that you can to George--I am sure of that." "Yes. His goodness and his sorrow will always make me generous with him. He did not confide the name of his lost love, or the time of his loss, but whether it was ten years ago or one, he certainly suffers still!" Again Edith's struggle for self-control left her weaker than ever. Alma suddenly noticed her pallor. "Why, dear girl, you're faint. O, I have talked so long, and forgotten your condition. Forgive me, dear," and hastily adjusting Edith's wrap, she began to wheel her chair toward the small boarding house, which was hidden in the clump of trees only a hundred feet away. The little house held about fifty guests. It was situated on the lake front, and for quiet and beauty of surroundings, it was hardly surpassable. Betty and Alma were ideal companions for Edith, but both were worried at her condition. They had been there for one week, and Edith grew weaker and weaker. As Alma and Edith approached the house, Betty came out to meet them. She looked at Edith anxiously. "Edith dear," she said gently; "won't you do me a great favor?"