Then the doctor spoke words simple in themselves, and with a calm voice; but yet they seemed to her to breathe forth all the passion that a human being under that fiercest spell of love can feel. "I knew that you walked by this road to the hospital. I have come here to meet you, Miss King." Mary answered nothing. He continued, "I have come to see you, to speak to you. No, let us go this way," and he turned off into a road, which was not the direct one to the hospital, but which led through the neighbouring park, and was little frequented by pedestrians at that early hour, so afforded opportunity for undisturbed conversation. They walked on side by side for some minutes without either speaking. "Mary!" then said the doctor--"you must let me call you Mary, even if I am only to be your friend--I have so longed to see you by yourself, to learn from your lips what my fate is to be!" The girl walked firmly on, but with downcast eyes, hardly seeing whither she went, but guiding herself in some strange way by the consciousness of the one who walked by her side. After a pause he continued: "Mary, you know that I love you. I must know--you must tell me--if it is altogether impossible for you to return that love." "Altogether impossible," she replied, in a scarcely audible voice. "Altogether!" he repeated after her in a dazed way. "Then I have nothing more to live for. Oh, pardon me, Miss King! Why should I speak to you of my happiness or misery? What a selfish being I am, even in my love for you? And yet I do not think that it is altogether selfish. I know that I would willingly endure endless misery if by that I could lighten your burden, my child. Mine is a love that, be it selfish or unselfish, fills my whole being. Oh, Mary! cannot you love me a little? I would so endeavour to make your life a happy one." His voice was subdued, but full of profound tenderness, and it pierced Mary's heart with a sharp pain. "I know it--I know it," she whispered; "but, oh! it is impossible, quite impossible." They were now on a lonely path among the bushes of the park. They came to a seat under a tree; Dr. Duncan sat down on it and Mary sat by him. "I cannot at all understand your meaning, Mary," he said sadly. "Oh why do you love me?" she cried in tones of anguish, "why do you love me? Try and put me out of your heart. If you only knew my heart you would do so at once." He looked at her for a few moments, then asked in despair, "Do you dislike me?" "Dislike you!" and she raised her head and looked into his eyes as she exclaimed the words. "Dislike you! How can I dislike you who are so kind to me? Ah no! Dr. Duncan--it is not that; but have mercy on me--you are torturing me. It can never be--never--never--I cannot love you. There is something between us, something awful, and you must not ask me what it is!"