On the evening of the sixteenth day, he received the glad intelligence that Mary was better. That although greatly emaciated, and feeble as an infant, a decidedly healthy action had taken place, and the doctor expressed confident hopes of her recovery. "May I not see her, Mrs. Turner?" he asked, earnestly. "Not yet, Mr. Martin, The doctor is positive in his directions to have her kept perfectly quiet." Martin had, of course, to acquiesce, but with great reluctance. For five days more he continued to call in twice every day, and each time found her slightly improved. "May I not see her now?" he again asked, at the end of these additional days of anxious self-denial. "If you will not talk to her," said Mrs. Turner. Martin promised, and was shown up to her chamber. His heart sickened as he approached the bed-side, and looked upon the thin, white, almost expressionless face, and sunken eye, of her who was now the ruler of his affections. He took her hand, that returned a feeble, almost imperceptible pressure, but did not trust himself to utter her name. She hardly seemed conscious of his presence, and he soon turned away, sad, very sad, yet full of hope for her recovery. The healthy action continued, and in a week Mary could bear conversation. As soon as she could begin to sit up, Martin passed every evening with her, and seeing, as he now did, with different eyes, he perceived in her a hundred things to admire that had before escaped his notice. Recovering rapidly, in a month she was fully restored to health, and looked better than she had for years. Just about this time, as Martin was making up his mind to declare himself her lover, he was surprised, on entering their parlor one evening, to find on the table a large brass door-plate, with the words, "MARY TURNER, FANCY DRESS MAKER," engraved upon it. "Why, what are you going to do with this Mary?" he asked, forgetting that she did not know his peculiar thoughts about her. "I am going to commence my business," she replied in a quiet tone. "I have learned a trade, and now I must turn it, if possible, to some good account." "But your health won't bear it, Mary," he urged. "Don't you know that you made yourself sick by your close application in learning your trade?" "I do, Mr. Martin; but still, you know why I learned my trade." Mr. Martin paused for a few moments, and then looking into her face, said-- "Yes, I know the reason, Mary, and I always admired your noble independence in acting as you did--nay," and he took her hand, "If you will permit me to say so, have loved you ever since I had a true appreciation of your character. May I hope for a return of kindred feelings?" Mary Turner's face became instantly crimsoned with burning blushes, but she did not withdraw her hand. A brief silence ensued, during which the only sounds audible to the ears of each, was the beating of their own hearts. Martin at length said-- "Have I aught to hope, Mary?"