me what to do? Why have you not advised me? Why are you always so
silent?"

"Silent about what?"

"You know, uncle, you know; silent about him; silent about Frank."

Why, indeed? What was he to say to this? It was true that he had
never counselled her; never shown her what course she should take;
had never even spoken to her about her lover. And it was equally true
that he was not now prepared to do so, even in answer to such an
appeal as this. He had a hope, a strong hope, more than a hope, that
Mary's love would yet be happy; but he could not express or explain
his hope; nor could he even acknowledge to himself a wish that would
seem to be based on the death of him whose life he was bound, if
possible, to preserve.

"My love," he said, "it is a matter in which you must judge for
yourself. Did I doubt your conduct, I should interfere; but I do
not."

"Conduct! Is conduct everything? One may conduct oneself excellently,
and yet break one's heart."

This was too much for the doctor; his sternness and firmness
instantly deserted him. "Mary," he said, "I will do anything that you
would have me. If you wish it, I will make arrangements for leaving
this place at once."

"Oh, no," she said, plaintively.

"When you tell me of a broken heart, you almost break my own. Come
to me, darling; do not leave me so. I will say all that I can say. I
have thought, do still think, that circumstances will admit of your
marriage with Frank if you both love each other, and can both be
patient."

"You think so," said she, unconsciously sliding her hand into his,
as though to thank him by its pressure for the comfort he was giving
her.

"I do think so now more than ever. But I only think so; I have been
unable to assure you. There, darling, I must not say more; only that
I cannot bear to see you grieving, I would not have said this:" and
then he left her, and nothing more was spoken on the subject.

If you can be patient! Why, a patience of ten years would be as
nothing to her. Could she but live with the knowledge that she was
first in his estimation, dearest in his heart; could it be also
granted to her to feel that she was regarded as his equal, she could
be patient for ever. What more did she want than to know and feel
this? Patient, indeed!

But what could these circumstances be to which her uncle had alluded?
"I do think that circumstances will admit of your marriage." Such was
his opinion, and she had never known him to