“I wish to live”—clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. “I never before minded what happened to me, life is so hard—but your love has changed everything. I wish to live for your sake—not for mine.” “Are you willing to trust yourself to me?” Franz gently interposed. Margaret's head half rested on the chair-back, half upon his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and the hands he held within his own burned feverishly. At last she whispered: “Take me with you. It is best we go together. I am sick—sick—and he is killing me. If you would have me, you must take me now....” The next day as Philip was at work, Franz entered his room unannounced. Seeing who it was, Philip put down his pen, turning from the pile of manuscript over which he had been toiling. “Are you busy, Philip?” Franz asked. “Not very. Why?” “Because I should like a moment's talk with you.” Philip nodded. “Just knock those books off a corner of the bed and sit down—dump them on the floor. What is it, old fellow?” Franz, having complied with the suggestion, said: “You know that Margaret is ill?” “I knew she had a cold. I hope it's not serious.” “Her physician advises that she spend the remainder of the winter in the South. This she will do as soon as she recovers sufficiently.” Again Philip nodded. “It's very unexpected, isn't it? I should consider it risky.” “She is not to go alone.” “Oh, I presume Mrs. Perkins is to go with her?” “It would not be paying much of a compliment to your intelligence if I thought to surprise you by saying that I love Margaret.” “Precious little,” Philip admitted laconically. “Well, I shall surprise you. We are to be married immediately. The situation is so grave as to permit of no delay. Her health and the probable reappearance of her brother make it necessary.” “Bless mel I never figured on this.” Philip looked his amazement. “What will you do then, Franz?” “When she is able to travel, I suppose it means Florida, or the Bermudas.” Philip had risen and gathered himself together while making the circuit of the room. “I declare, I didn't congratulate you, did I? To be sure, old fellow, the thought of losing you is not agreeable.” “If you will, Philip, you can be of great service to me.” “I was about to volunteer,” said Philip heartily, “but you swept me squarely off my feet.” On the authority of Perkins—“It was a mighty jolly wedding.” The ceremony was performed in Margaret's own room and during its progress she lay upon a lounge, looking as fair as the lilies-of-the-valley in her hands, which Perkins had given her, after liberally bedewing them with his tears dropped in sentimental secrecy. The sun was sinking far across the white fields, and the gold of its dying flames stole in through the windows, lighting up the room, as Franz, standing at Margaret's side, gave her his name and the protection of his love.