as I can. I should not be speaking the truth, George, if I told
you that I have ceased to feel the serious objections that there are to
your marrying this lady. The only difference in my way of thinking is,
that I am now willing to set my objections aside, out of regard for your
happiness. I am an old woman, my dear. In the course of nature, I cannot
hope to be with you much longer. When I am gone, who will be left to
care for you and love you, in the place of your mother? No one will
be left, unless you marry Mrs. Van Brandt. Your happiness is my first
consideration, and the woman you love (sadly as she has been led astray)
is a woman worthy of a better fate. Marry her."

I could not trust myself to speak. I could only kneel at my mother's
feet, and hide my face on her knees, as if I had been a boy again.

"Think of it, George," she said. "And come back to me when you are
composed enough to speak as quietly of the future as I do."

She lifted my head and kissed me. As I rose to leave her, I saw
something in the dear old eyes that met mine so tenderly, which struck a
sudden fear through me, keen and cutting, like a stroke from a knife.

The moment I had closed the door, I went downstairs to the porter in the
hall.

"Has my mother left the house," I asked, "while I have been away?"

"No, sir."

"Have any visitors called?"

"One visitor has called, sir."

"Do you know who it was?"

The porter mentioned the name of a celebrated physician--a man at the
head of his profession in those days. I instantly took my hat and went
to his house.

He had just returned from his round of visits. My card was taken to him,
and was followed at once by my admission to his consulting-room.

"You have seen my mother," I said. "Is she seriously ill? and have you
not concealed it from her? For God's sake, tell me the truth; I can bear
it."

The great man took me kindly by the hand.

"Your mother stands in no need of any warning; she is herself aware of
the critical state of her health," he said. "She sent for me to confirm
her own conviction. I could not conceal from her--I must not conceal
from you--that the vital energies are sinking. She may live for some
months longer in a milder air than the air of London. That is all I can
say. At her age, her days are numbered."

He gave me time to steady myself under the blow; and then he placed his
vast experience, his matured and consummate knowledge, at my disposal.
From his dictat