'I came especially to see you,' he said, after the first greeting, 'and yet I scarcely expected to find you had left your room so early. Yesterday was a day of severe trial to you, dear Mrs. Claxton, but you seem to have gone through it bravely.' 'If I did,' said Alice, with a half-mournful smile, 'I think it must have been owing to my pride. I did not know I possessed any of that quality until there came occasion for its display. But I suffered dreadfully from reaction during the night, and was as low and as hysterical as my worst enemy could wish me.' 'But that feeling has passed away now?' 'O yes; with the morning light came brighter thoughts and better sense; and when your name was announced, I was thinking seasonably enough, as it seemed to me, of the mercy of Providence in giving me such kind friends in the midst of my affliction.' 'I am glad to find you in this frame of mind, dear Mrs. Claxton, as I have come to talk to you on a subject which will require your particular attention.' His voice faltered as he spoke, and the colour forsook her cheeks as she listened to him. 'My particular attention,' she repeated, with a forced smile. 'It must be something serious, then.' 'It is serious, but not, I hope, distasteful,' said Martin. 'I have been with Mr. Statham this morning. I went to him to give him the opportunity of speaking to me upon a matter which I knew he had most deeply at heart, and which must sooner or later have been broached by him.' He looked at her keenly, watching the effect of his words. Her face expressed great interest, but no alarm, no regret. He was glad of that, he thought to himself. 'I was with Humphrey for an hour, and when I left him I told him I should come straight to you. Mine is a strange errand, Alice'--it was perhaps the first time he had addressed her by her Christian name, and the word as spoken by him rang musically but mournfully on her ear--'a strange errand for a confirmed old bachelor!' Alice started at the word. 'Yes,' continued Martin, very pale, but striving hard to smile and to command the inflexions of his voice, 'it is the old story of people preaching what they never intend to practise. Dear Alice, Humphrey Statham loves you, and I am here to ask you to marry him?' Bravely done, Martin, at last! Bravely done, though you were asking for what you knew was equivalent to your death-warrant; bravely spoken, without a break in your voice, though her dear eyes were fixed upon you, and you had taken into yours that little hand which you were urging her to bestow upon another. Alice was motionless for a moment. Then she drew back, shuddering and crying, 'I cannot, I cannot.'