ther and I had even talked of that. I had thought
it a romantic scheme when my mother spoke of it, but my passion had
fastened eagerly upon it, in spite of my better judgment. These were the
tidings she was waiting to hear from my lips.

When I reached home I found her full of dangerous excitement. It was
impossible to allay it without telling her either an untruth or the
whole story. I could not deceive her, and with a desperate calmness I
related the history of the day. I tried to make light of my
disappointment, but she broke down into tears and wailings.

"Oh, my boy!" she lamented; "and I did so want to see you happy before I
died: I wanted to leave some one who could comfort you; and Olivia would
have comforted you and loved you when I am gone! You had set your heart
upon her. Are you sure it is true? My poor, poor Martin, you must forget
her now. It becomes a sin for you to love her."

"I cannot forget her," I said; "I cannot cease to love her. There can be
no sin in it as long as I think of her as I do now."

"And there is poor Julia!" moaned my mother.

Yes, there was Julia; and she would have to be told all, though she
would rejoice over it. Of course, she would rejoice; it was not in human
nature, at least in Julia's human nature, to do otherwise. She had
warned me against Olivia; had only set me free reluctantly. But how was
I to tell her? I must not leave to my mother the agitation of imparting
such tidings. I couldn't think of deputing the task to my father. There
was no one to do it but myself.

My mother passed a restless and agitated night, and I, who sat up with
her, was compelled to listen to all her lamentation. But toward the
morning she fell into a heavy sleep, likely to last for some hours. I
could leave her in perfect security; and at an early hour I went down to
Julia's house, strung up to bear the worst, and intending to have it all
out with her, and put her on her guard before she paid her daily visit
to our house. She must have some hours for her excitement and rejoicing
to bubble over, before she came to talk about it to my mother.

"I wish to see Miss Dobree," I said to the girl who quickly answered my
noisy peal of the house-bell.

"Please, sir,'" was her reply, "she and Miss Daltrey are gone to Sark
with Captain Carey."

"Gone to Sark!" I repeated, in utter amazement.

"Yes, Dr. Martin. They started quite early because of the tide, and
Captain Carey's man brought the carriage t