He was watching her and waiting for her answer with what calmness he could assume. He had tried to repress his feelings, and hold himself in check as much as possible, in making this proposal to her, for his knowledge of her condition warned him that any excessive excitement might bring on another fainting turn and do her great injury, and so his full heart was nearly bursting with the wealth of his repressed love; for he had learned to love her during this short acquaintance, as he had never believed it possible that he could love any woman. “Salome!” he entreated, as she was still silent, struggling between love and duty; “answer me, please.” “How can I? I ought not to burden you, all broken in health as I am,” she murmured tremulously. “But you love me?” he questioned eagerly, and trying to look into her downcast eyes. “Yes—oh, yes! but I must not clog your life.” His face became suddenly glorified—if she could have seen it, maybe she would not have judged him as she did later—but ever thoughtful of her good he held himself well in hand. “Clog my life,” he repeated, in a low, intense, yet calm tone. “To whom do I owe the life that I have to-day? To whom have you sacrificed the strength that you lack to-day? Do not reason thus, Salome—you will be no burden, no clog; you will get well with the right kind of care. I shall take you away from here to a more genial atmosphere—wherever you wish to go—wherever you can be happiest—until you are well and strong; then you shall help me in my work, for a doctor often needs aid and counsel from his wife.” “Do you really believe that I shall ever be well and strong again?” Salome asked doubtfully, lifting her grave eyes to his face, and searching it earnestly. “I certainly do, under the right conditions—if you can be happy, care-free, and have proper treatment. Will you marry me, Salome? I dare not excite you too much, but I am very anxious for my answer.” And lifting a flushed and happy face to him, she whispered: “Yes.” He had put such a relentless curb upon himself for her sake, that this sudden granting of his request was almost more than he could calmly bear, and for a moment he grew ghastly pale from the very intensity of his emotion—this, too, she remembered later, and judged him for it—then he bent quietly forward and touched his lips to her forehead, thus sealing their betrothal. At that moment the footsteps of the returning nurse sounded in the corridor, and quickly releasing the hands of his betrothed, Dr. Winthrop arose and going to a table, poured out a few quieting drops from a vial, and gave them to Salome. He saw that, in spite of her great new happiness, the interview had been a severe tax upon her small amount of strength, for she was trembling visibly. A few moments later he took his leave, but promised that he would look in upon her again before evening.