She would not, however, allow herself to analyze her feelings, though she was now and then smitten with a consciousness of approaching sorrow or danger. She simply lived from day to day in the joyful expectation of his coming, and the delight of his presence, without questioning the wisdom of thus bestowing the wealth of her love upon him, or what life would be to her when he should return to his home and practice in New York. One day he told her that he was to spend the whole of the coming week in that hospital, to witness two or three critical operations and their subsequent treatment. Salome’s heart leaped with sudden joy. For a whole week she was to live beneath the same roof with him, and see him every day, perhaps oftener. The rich color surged up over her face, and her lips quivered in a tender smile. “After that,” added Dr. Winthrop with an unconscious sigh, “I must go home to my duties.” A sudden blindness, a sense of dizziness, rushed over her as she realized what his departure would mean to her. For the first time she fully comprehended how blank, how devoid of all that could make life desirable to her the world would be when he should be gone. A deadly paleness overspread her features, she gasped once or twice, and then sank quietly back in her chair, where she lay without life or motion, like some beautiful spirit from another world. CHAPTER IV. DR. WINTHROP MAKES A STARTLING PROPOSAL. Dr. Winthrop had not been looking at Salome when he made the announcement of his contemplated departure. He was gazing out of the window beside which he sat, at some of the patients who were strolling in the park—for the day was very mild, almost spring-like, and those who were well enough had been allowed to go out to take the air—and he had not a suspicion of the effect which his words had produced. After a moment or two, however, not receiving any reply, and the silence becoming oppressive, he turned to glance at Salome, and was dismayed to find her unconscious. He sprang to her side, gathered her in his arms, and laid her upon the bed, and fortunately at that moment Dr. Hunt entered the room. “What is the matter here?” he sharply demanded, a look of concern on his honest face. Dr. Winthrop, all unconscious that the announcement of his approaching departure had caused the swoon, explained that he had turned to the window to watch the patients in the park, and when he looked back again he found Miss Howland unconscious. “I am afraid there is something very serious the trouble with Miss Howland,” he added, with a very grave face. “I have been watching her very closely of late, and I have begun to fear atrophy of the heart, superinduced by the loss of blood.”