my love, and ask if she will come to Linwood this summer;" and Morris paused a moment beneath a beechwood tree to still the throbbings of his heart, which beat so fast as he thought of going home some day from his weary work and finding Katy there, his little wife—his own—whom he might caress and love all his affectionate nature would prompt him to. He knew that in some points she was weak—a silly little thing she called herself when comparing her mind with Helen's—but there was about her so much of purity, innocence, and perfect beauty, that few men, however strong their intellect, could withstand her, and Morris, though knowing her weakness, felt that in possessing her he should have all he needed to make this life desirable. She would improve as she grew older, and it would be a most delightful task to train her into what she was capable of becoming. Alas! for Dr. Morris! He was very near the farmhouse now, and there were only a few minutes between him and the cloud which would darken his horizon so completely. Katy was alone, sitting up in her pretty dressing gown of blue, which was so becoming to her pure complexion. Her hair, which had been all cut away during her long sickness, was growing out again somewhat darker than before, and lay in rings upon her head, making her look more childish than ever. But to this Morris did not object. He liked to have her a child, and he thought he had never seen her so wholly beautiful as she was this morning, when, with glowing cheek and dancing eyes, she greeted him as he came in.
"Oh, Dr. Morris!" she began, holding up a letter she had in her hand, "I am so glad you've come, for I wanted to tell you so badly Wilford has not forgotten me, as I used to think, and as I guess you thought, too, though you did not say so. He has written, and he is coming again, if I will let him; and, oh, Morris! I am so glad! Ain't you? Seeing you knew all about it, and never told Helen, I'll let you read the letter."
And she held it toward the young man leaning against the mantel and panting for the breath which came so heavily.
Something he said apologetically about being snow blind, for there was that day quite a fall of soft spring snow; and then with a mighty effort, which made his heart quiver with pain, Morris was himself once more, and took the letter in his hand.
"Perhaps I had better not read it," he said, but Katy insisted that he might, and thinking to himself: "It will cure me sooner perhaps," he read the few lines Wilford Cameron had written to his "dear little Katy."
That was the way he addressed her, going on to say that circumstances which he could not explain to her had kept him silent ever since he left her the previous autumn; but through all he never for a moment had forgotten her, thinking of her the more for the silence he had maintained. "And now that I have risen above the circumstances," he added, in conclusion, "I write to ask if I may come to Silverton again. If I may, just drop me one word, 'come,' and in less than a week I shall be there. Yours very truly, W. Cameron."
Morris read the letter through, feeling that every word was separating him further and further from Katy, to whom he said: "You will answer this?"
"Yes, oh yes; perhaps to-day."
"And you will tell him to come?"
"Why, yes—what else should I tell him?" and Katy's blue eyes looked wonderingly at Morris, who hardly knew what he was doing, or why he said to her next: "Listen to me, Katy. You know why Wilford Cameron comes here a second time, and what he will probably ask you ere he goes away; but, Katy, you are not strong enough yet to see him under so exciting circumstances, and, as your physician, I desire that you tell him to wait at least three weeks before he comes. Will you do so, Katy?"
"That is just as Helen talked," Katy answered, mournfully. "She said I was not able."
"And will you heed us?" Morris asked again, while Katy after a moment consented; and glad of this respite from what he knew to a certainty would be, Morris dealt out her medicine, and for an instant felt her rapid pulse, but did not retain her hand within his own, nor lay his other upon her head, as he had sometimes done.
He could not do that now, and so he hurried away, finding the world into which he went far different from what it had seemed an hour ago. Then all was bright and hopeful; but now, alas! a darker night was gathering around him than any he had ever known, and the patients visited that day marveled at the whiteness of his face, asking if he were ill? Yes, he answered them truly, and for two days he was not seen again, but remained at home alone, where none but his God was witness to what he suffered; but when the third day came he went again among his sick, grave, quiet and unchanged to outward appearance, unless it was that his voice, always so kind, had now a kinder tone and his manner was tenderer, more sympathizing. Inwardly, however, there was a change, for Morris Grant had lain himself upon the sacrificial altar, willing to be and to endure whatever God should appoint, knowing that all would eventually be for his good. To the farmhouse he went every day, talking most with Helen now, but never forgetting who it was sitting so demurely in the armchair, or flitting about the room, for Katy was gaining rapidly. Love perhaps had had nothing to do with her dangerous illness, but it had much to do with her recovery, and those not in the secret wondered to see how she improved, her cheeks growing round and full and her eyes shining with returning health and happiness.
At Helen's instigation Katy had deferred Wilford's visit four weeks instead of three, but in that time there had come two letters from him, letters so full of anxiety and sympathy for "his poor little Katy who had been so sick," that even Helen began to think she had done injustice to him, that he was not as proud and heartless as she supposed, and that he did love her sister after all.
"If I supposed he meant to deceive her I should wish I was a man to cowhide him," she said to herself, with flashing eye, as she heard Katy exulting that he was coming "to-morrow."
This time he would stop at Linwood, for Katy had asked Morris if he might, while Morris had told her "yes," feeling his heart wound throb afresh, as he thought how hard it would be to entertain his rival. Of himself Morris could do nothing, but with the help he never sought in vain he could do all things, and so he gave orders that the best chamber should be prepared for his guest, bidding Mrs. Hull, his housekeeper, see that no pains were spared for his entertainment, and then with Katy he waited for the day, the last one in April, which should bring Wilford Cameron a second time to Silverton.
CHAPTER VII.
WILFORD'S SECOND VISIT.
Wilford Cameron had tried to forget Katy Lennox, while his mother and sisters had done their best to help to forget, or at least sicken of her; and as the three, Juno, Bell and the mother, were very differently constituted, they had widely different ways of assisting him in his dilemma, the mother complimenting his good sense in drawing back from an alliance which could only bring him mortification; Bell, the blue sister, ignoring the idea of Wilford's marrying that country girl as something too preposterous to be contemplated for a moment, much less to be talked about; while Juno spared neither ridicule nor sarcasm, using the former weapon so effectually that her brother at one time nearly went over to the enemy; and Katy's tears, shed so often when no one could see her, were not without a reason. Wilford was trying to forget her, both for his sake and her own, for he foresaw that she could not be happy with his family, and he came to think it might be a wrong to her, transplanting her into a soil so wholly unlike that in which her habits and affections had taken root.
His father once had abruptly asked him if there was any truth in the report that he was about to marry and make a fool of himself, and when Wilford had answered "No," he had replied with a significant:
"Umph!
