Four weeks had passed since Malcolm Stratton’s insane attempt—four weeks of an utterly prostrating illness from which he was slowly recovering, when, one morning, Guest entered the room where Brettison was seated by his friend’s couch, and made an announcement which wrought a sudden change in the convalescent.

“I expected it,” he said quietly; and then, after a pause, “I will go with you.”

Guest opened and shut his mouth without speaking for a few moments. Then:

“Go—with me? You go with me? Why, it would be madness.”

“Madness, madness, old fellow,” said Stratton feebly, “but I tell you I am quite strong now.”

“Very far from it,” said Brettison.

“And I say so too,” cried Guest. “Look here, old fellow, do you mean to assert that you are compos mentis?”

“Of course,” said Stratton, smiling.

“Then I say you are not,” cried Guest, “and Mr Brettison will second me. You are weak as a rat in spite of all our watching, and feeding, and care.”

“All this long, weary month,” sighed Stratton. “Heaven bless you both for what you have done.”

“Never mind about blessings; be a little grateful to Mr Brettison, who has been like a hundred hospital nurses rolled into one, and give up this mad idea.”

“But it is not mad,” pleaded Stratton. “I only want to go to the church. I am quite strong enough now. I want to see her married, that is all. Mr Brettison, you see how calm I am.”

“Yes, very,” said the old botanist, smiling sadly. “Calm with your temples throbbing and your veins too full. My dear boy, if you go to that wedding, you will over-excite yourself and we shall have a serious relapse.”

“If I do go?” said Stratton quietly. “I shall certainly have it. I mean to go.”

He rose from the couch on which he had been lying, walked into the bedroom, and closed the door.

“Did you ever see such a mule, Mr Brettison?” cried Guest as soon as they were alone. “I was a fool to come in and tell him I was going; but I thought he had got over it, and he knew it was to-day.”

“You are going as one of the friends?”

“Yes, Miss Jerrold asked me,” said Guest, rather consciously; “and of course he would have known afterward, and reproached me for not telling him. What is to be done?”

“Certainly not thwart him,” replied Brettison. “I was going out into the country to-day.”

“Collecting?”

“Yes, my dear sir, a little. My great hobby, Mr Guest. But I will not go. We should do more harm than good by stopping him, so I’ll go to the church with him.”

“But I dread a scene,” said Guest. “Suppose he should turn wild at seeing her lead up the aisle. Fancy the consequences. It would be cruel to the lady. It is not as if she had jilted him.”

“Never cared for him a bit, did she?” whispered Brettison.

“H’m! Well, sir, I don’t quite like to say. At all events, Miss Myra Jerrold accepted this Mr Barron before poor old Malcolm spoke a word, and I am convinced that she felt certain he did not care for her.”

“An unfortunate business, Guest. Poor lad! poor lad! But there, he recovered, and any opposition would, I am sure, throw him back.”

“But the lady?”

“Have no fear; Malcolm Stratton will, I am sure, be guilty of no insane folly. I know him better than you, Guest.”

“I think not,” said the young man, smiling.

“We will not argue the point,” replied the old botanist, taking Guest’s hand. “We both think we know him better than anyone else, and after all have not half sounded the depths of his nature.”

“Well, I leave him to you,” said Guest. “I have no time to spare. I’m off now, old fellow,” he cried, approaching the bedroom door.

“All right,” cried Stratton cheerfully as he came back and held out his hand. “My kindest regards to Edie. Don’t be afraid, old fellow; I am going to behave sensibly. You need not fear a scene.”

“But I—”

“Don’t deny it, lad. Off with you,” said Stratton, smiling at his friend’s confusion; and he accompanied him out on to the landing. “God bless her!” he said. “I wish her every happiness with the man of her choice. It’s all over now, and I can bear it like a man.”

They shook hands and parted, and when, an hour later, Guest saw Myra enter the room, where he was just snatching a hurried word with Edie, he was startled at the white, set face, and strange, dreamy eyes, which looked in his when he spoke to her.

But what had been a bitter fight was at an end, and all its secrets hidden in the bride’s own breast. For a time, as it had dawned upon her that there was something warmer than friendship in her breast for Malcolm Stratton, she shrank in horror from the idea of pledging herself to the man she had accepted; but she fought with and crushed down her feelings. Stratton must, she felt, despise her now, and she was engaged to Barron. It was her father’s wish, and she had promised to be this man’s wife, while that he loved her he gave her no room to doubt.

“I will do my duty by him,” she said proudly to herself as she took her father’s arm; and as Guest was driven in anot............