nice to
us. I reckon a dozen of the church ladies called yesterday to ask how
you were--and Captain Haney came down to-day on purpose to find out how
things were going."

The sufferer's eyes opened wide. "Bert, he's with you!"

"Yes, he drove me out here," answered the girl, quietly. "He's come for
an answer to his proposition. It's up to us to decide right now."

The mother broke into a whimper. "Oh, darling, I don't know what to
think. I'm afraid to leave this to you--it's an awful temptation to a
girl. I guess I've decided against it. He ain't the kind of man you
ought to marry."

She hushed her mother's wail. "Sh! He'll hear you," she said, solemnly.
"There are lots o' worse men than Mart Haney."

"But he's so old--for you."

"He's no boy, that's true, but we went all over that. The new fact in
the case is this: he's sold out up there--cleared out his saloon
business--and all for _me_. Think o' that--and I hadn't given him a word
of encouragement, either! Now that speaks well for him, don't you
think?"

The mother nodded. "Yes, it surely does, but then--"

The girl went on: "Well, now, it ain't as though I hated him, for I
don't--I like him, I've always liked him. He's the handsomest man I
know, and he's treated me right from the very start. He didn't come down
to hurry me or crowd me at all, so he says. Well, I told him I wouldn't
answer yet awhile--time isn't really up till to-morrow. I can take
another week if I want to."

The mother lay in silence for a few moments, and then with closed eyes,
streaming with hot tears, she again prayed silently to God to guide her
girl in the right path. When she opened her eyes the tall form of
Marshall Haney towered over her, so handsome, so full of quiet power
that he seemed capable of anything. His face was strangely sweet as he
said: "You must not fret about anything another minute. You've but to
lie quiet and get strong." He put his broad, soft, warm, and muscular
hand down upon her two folded ones, and added: "Let me do fer ye as I
would fer me own mother. 'Twill not commit ye to a thing." He seemed to
understand her mood--perhaps he had overheard her plea. "I'm not asking
a decision till you are well, but I wish you would trust me now--I could
do so much more fer you and the girl. Here's the doctor, so put the
whole thing by for the present. I ask nothing till you are well."

If this was policy on his part it was successful; for the poor tortured
mother's hea