you go out and see him? I am sorry Carry has gone to school."

She rose. He rose also, and he was about to lift his hat from the table,
when he suddenly turned to her.

"A drowning man will cry out; how can you prevent his crying out?"

She was startled by the change in the sound of his voice, and still
more by the almost haggard look of pain and entreaty in his eyes. He
seized her hand; she would have withdrawn it, but she could not.

"You will listen. It is no harm to you. I must speak now, or I will
die," said he, quite wildly; "and if you think I am mad, perhaps you are
right, but people have pity for a madman. Do you know why I have come to
London? It is to see you. I could bear it no longer--the fire that was
burning and killing me. Oh, it is no use my saying that it is love for
you--I do not know what it is--but only that I must tell you, and you
cannot be angry with me--you can only pity me and go away. That is
it--it is nothing to you--you can go away."

She burst into tears, and snatched her hand from him, and with both
hands covered her face.

"Ah!" said he, "is it pain to you that I should tell you of this
madness? But you will forgive me--and you will forget it--and it will
not pain you to-morrow or any other day. Surely you are not to blame! Do
you remember the days when we became friends? it seems a long time ago,
but they were beautiful days, and you were very kind to me, and I was
glad I had come to London to make so kind a friend. And it was no fault
of yours that I went away with that sickness of the heart; and how could
you know about the burning fire, and the feeling that if I did not see
you I might as well be dead? And I will call you Gertrude for once only.
Gertrude, sit down now--for a moment or two--and do not grieve any more
over what is only a misfortune. I want to tell you. After I have spoken,
I will go away, and there will be an end of the trouble."

She did sit down; her hands were clasped in piteous despair; he saw the
tear drops on the long, beautiful lashes.

"And if the drowning man cries?" said he. "It is only a breath. The
waves go over him, and the world is at peace. And oh! do you know that I
have taken a strange fancy of late--But I will not trouble you with
that; you may hear of it afterward; you will understand, and know you
have no blame, and there is an end of trouble. It is quite strange what
fancies get into one's head when one is--sick--heart-sick. Do you know
what