sick-room, for he was one of those who observe strict consideration for the feelings and prejudices of others; there was no help for it now. “It is not I that shall be returning to Bellville yet,” said Mrs. Bangs, “the sickly old place must give proof of its renewed health first; you will not get either me nor Mr. Bangs there for quite a while.” “What does the doctor think of the fever, that it will linger long?” “On the night I came away he told me he believed it was going at last. I hope he will prove right.” Charles Taylor spoke to his partner of his marriage arrangements. He had received a letter from Mary the morning after he left, in which she agreed to the proposal that Janey should be her temporary guest. This removed all barriers to the immediate union. “But, Charles, suppose Mary Ann should die,” observed Mr. Bangs. This conversation was taking place on the day previous to their leaving Waterville, where Charles had now been three days. “In that case, I suppose it will have to be postponed,” he replied, “but I hope for better news. That she is not dead yet is certain, or they would have written to me, and in such cases, if a patient can pull through the first debility, recovery may be possible.” “Have you heard from Janey?” “No. I have written to her twice, but in each letter I told her I would soon be home; therefore, most likely she did not write, thinking it would miss me. Had the worst happened, they would have written to me at all events.” “So you will marry soon, if she lives?” “Very soon.” “I hope that God will bless you both,” cried the invalid. “She will be a wife in a thousand.” Charles thought she would, but did not say so. “I wish I had never left Bellville,” he said, turning his haggard, but still fine blue eyes upon his friend. Charles was silent. None had regretted the departure more than he. “I wish I could go back to it to die.” “My dear friend, I hope you may live many years to bless us. If you can get through the winter, and I see no reason why you should not, with care, you may regain your strength and be as well as ever.” The invalid shook his head. “It will never be.” While they were thus engaged a servant called Charles from the room. A telegram had arrived for him at the station, and a boy had brought it over. A conviction of what it contained flashed over Charles Taylor’s heart as he opened it; the death of Mary Ann Brewster. From Mrs. Brewster it proved to be, not much more satisfactory than Mrs. Bangs, for if hers was unexplanatory this was incoherent. “The breath has just left my daughter’s body. Mrs. Brewster.” Charles returned to the room, his mind full; in the midst of his sorrow and regret for Mary Ann, his compassion for her mother, and he did really feel sorry, intruded the thoughts of his marriage; it must be postponed now. “What did he want with you,” asked Mr. Bangs when Charles returned to him. “He brought me a telegram from Bellville.” “A business message?” “No, sir; from Mrs.