would
have borne it all so patiently.

Then one hot oppressive evening the climax came. Olivia, who had never
fainted in her life, found herself to her great astonishment lying on
the little couch by the open window with her face very wet, and Marcus
looking at her with grave professional eyes.

That night he spoke very plainly. There must be no more teaching.
Olivia was simply killing herself, and he refused to sanction such
madness any longer. In future he must be the only breadwinner. Until
patients were obliging enough to send for him, they must just live on
their little capital. Olivia must stay at home, and see after things
and take care of herself, or he would not answer for the consequences.

"You have your husband to consider," he said, in a masterful tone, but
how absurdly boyish he looked, as he stood on the rug, tossing back a
loose wave of fair hair from his forehead. People always thought Dr.
Luttrell younger than he was in reality. He was eight-and-twenty, and
Olivia was six years younger. She was rather taller than her husband,
and had a slim erect figure. She had no claims to beauty; her features
were too irregular, but her clear, honest eyes and sweet smile and a
certain effective dimple redeemed her from plainness, and the soft
brown hair waving naturally over the temples had a sunny gleam in it.

When baby Dot made her appearance--Dorothy Maud Luttrell, as she was
inscribed in the register--the young parents forgot their anxieties for
a time in their joy in watching their first-born.

Marcus left his books to devote himself to nursing his pale wife back
to health. And as Olivia lay on the couch with her baby near her, and
feasted on the delicacies that Aunt Madge's thoughtfulness had
provided, or listened to Marcus as he read to her, it seemed to her, as
though the cup of her blessing were full.

"Oh, Marcus, how happy we are!" she would whisper, and Marcus would
stifle a sigh bravely.

[Illustration: "Oh, Marcus, how happy we are!"]

Alas! he knew the little capital was dwindling sadly--rent and taxes,
bread and cheese, and even the modest wages of a second Martha were
draining his purse too heavily. He had plenty of poor patients, but no
one but the French dressmaker had yet sent for the late Dr. Slade's
partner. It was then that those careworn lines came to the young
doctor's brow.

It was bitterly hard, for Marcus loved his profession, and had studied
hard. The poor peopl