iendliness," I added.

My words had precisely an opposite effect: thereafter she spoke of my
hopes as if they were certainties, and insisted on knowing all about
"Zuleema," as she persisted in calling Miss Taft.

"Now, Mother," I again protested, "you must not talk that way to _any_
of your callers, for if you do you'll get me into a most embarrassing
situation. You'll make it very hard for me to explain in case of
failure."

"You mustn't fail," she responded wistfully. "I can't afford to wait
much longer."

It was incredible to her that any sane girl would reject such an
alliance, but I was very far from her proud confidence.

In this doubt of success, I was entirely honest. I had never presumed on
any manly charm, I made no claim to beauty--on the contrary, I had
always been keenly aware of my rude frame and clumsy hands. I realized
also my lack of nice courtesy and genial humor. Power I had (and relied
upon), but of the lover's grace--nothing. That I was a bear was quite as
evident to me as to my friends. "If I win this girl it must be on some
other score than that of beauty," I admitted.

In the midst of the bustle and cheer of this week another swift and
sinister cloud descended upon me. One evening, as mother and I were
sitting together, she fell into a terrifying death-like trance from
which I could not rouse her, a condition which alarmed me so deeply that
I telegraphed to my father in Dakota and to my brother in Chicago,
telling them to come at once. It seemed to me that the final moment of
our parting was at hand.

All through that night, one of the longest I had ever known (a time of
agony and remorse as well as of fear), I blamed myself for bringing on
the wild disorder of the building. "If I had not gone away, if I had not
enlarged my plan, the house would now be in order," was the thought
which tortured me.

The sufferer's speech had failed, and her pitiful attempts to make her
wishes known wrung my heart with helpless pity. Her eyes, wide, dark and
beautiful, pleaded with me for help, and yet I could only kneel by her
side and press her hand and repeat the doctor's words of comfort. "It
will pass away, mother, just as your other attacks have done. I am sure
of it. Don't try to talk. Don't worry."

As the night deepened, dark and sultry, distant flashes of silent
lightning added to the lurid character of my midnight vigil. It seemed
that all my plans and all my hopes had gone awry. Helpless, lon