"Ah, here you are!" cried North warmly. "I have stayed to see you, for I have something particular to say." "That's right. At least, it is not bad news, I hope." "I hope good," said the doctor warmly, and then he stopped awkwardly. It had all seemed so easy to say in his own room. Here it was terrible. Mary's heart began to flutter, and a piteous look came into her eyes; but she closed them gently, and a tear slowly welled through from each. "Well, what is it? Nothing fresh about Tom Candlish, I hope?" "About him? No; nonsense! I wanted to tell you that there is no further need for me to attend your sister," Slid the doctor clumsily. "She is nearly well now, and--" "My dear Horace, you have saved her life!" "No, no; nonsense! Only did as any other medical man would have done." "I say she owes you her life, and it will be Leo's duty to remember that, and to strive henceforth to render back to you--" "If she only will!" cried North excitedly, as he sprang up and clasped his old friend's hand. For the ice was broken. He could speak now, and as Mary looked up through a mist of blinding tears he seemed to her like the hero she had always painted--as the man whom some day she might love. But for her love was dead. "Why, Horace, old man, what do you mean?" cried Salis, as Mary fought down a wail of agony which strove to escape her lips. "What do I mean, Salis?" cried the doctor passionately; "why, that I love Leo dearly, and I ask you to let me approach her, and beg her to be my wife." The curate sank into the nearest chair, and sat gazing up at his friend. "Why, you don't seem--I had hoped--Hartley, old fellow, don't look at me like that." "I am very sorry." "No, no; don't speak in that way--so cold and bitter." "Have you spoken to Leo--of your love?" "Not a word. On my honour." A sigh escaped Mary. "You need not say your honour, Horace, old fellow," said the curate sadly. "I did once hope this, but that time has gone by, and I can only say again I am very sorry." "But why?--why?" "Because," said the curate slowly, "Leo is not the woman to make you a happy husband." "Nonsense, my dear boy. I--I believe she loves me." The curate shook his head. "Ah! well," cried the young doctor joyously; "we shall see. Tell me this: would you accept me as your brother?" "I already look upon you as a brother." "Then you will let me speak to Leo?" The curate paused a few moments, and then in the gravest of tones said: "Yes." "Now? At once?" "If you wish it," said Salis, after another pause. "Then I will," said North. "I have waited months, and borne agonies all through her illness. Now I will be at rest." "But--" Salis was too late, for hot, excited, and strung up hard to the highest pitch of excitement, North strode from the room, while Salis stooped over Mary and kissed her. "I am very sorry," he repeated: and a couple of loving arms closed round his neck, as Mary sobbed gently upon his breast.