"Why did I come?" she whispered; "because they told me you were dying, and I could bear it no longer. I came to tell you of my love, of the love I have fought against so long, but only to make it grow. To tell you, my poor brave hero, that the world is nothing to us, and that we must be estranged no more. Stephen, I love you with all my soul, and you must live--live to call me wife--live to protect me, for I want your help and your brave right hand to be my defence. This is unwomanly-- shameless, if you will--but do you think I have not known your love for me, and the true brave fight that you have made? Has not my heart shared your every hope, and sorrowed with you when you have failed? And, poor weak fool that I have been, have I not stood aloof, saying that you should come to me, and yet worshipped you--reverenced you the more for your honour and your pride? But that is all past now. It is not too late. Live for me, Stephen, my own brave martyr, and let the past be one long sad dream: for I love you, I love you, God only knows how well!" She hid her burning, agitated face in his breast, and his two thin hands tremblingly and slowly rose to clasp her head; and there the white fingers lay motionless in the rich, dark hair. There was again a pause, which he was the first to break, and his voice was still but a whisper, as he muttered something that I did not hear, though I gathered it from her smothered reply. "Oh, no, no: let there be an end to that!" she sobbed. "Money? Fortune? Why should that keep us apart, when it might help you in your gallant fight? Let me be your help and stay. Stephen--Stephen!" she wailed piteously, "have I not asked you--I, a woman--to make me your wife?" "Yes," he said softly, and I heard him sigh; "but it cannot be--it cannot be." "What?" she cried passionately, as she half-started from him, but clung to him still; "now that I have conquered my wretched, miserable pride, will you raise up another barrier between us?" "Oh, hush, hush!" he whispered; "you are opening to me the gates of a worldly heaven, but I dare not enter in." "Then I have done nothing," she wailed, as she seemed to crouch there now in shame and confusion by his bed. "Stephen, you humble me in the dust; my shameless declaration--my appeal--do I not ask you to take me-- pray you to make me your wife? Oh, what am I saying?" she cried passionately; "it is too late--too late!" "No," he panted; and his words seemed to come each with a greater effort, "not--too late--your words--have--given--me life. Miriam-- come--hold me in your arms, and I shall stay. A little while ago I felt that all was past, but now, strength seems to come--we must wait--I shall conquer yet--give me strength to fight--to strive--wait for me, darling--I'll win you yet, and--God of heaven! hear her prayer--and let me--ah--" "Quick, Miss Carr, he has fainted," I whispered, as his head sank back. "Let me give him this."