"Did Dr. Physick ever pronounce my disease epilepsy? You consulted together about it once, I believe. Do tell me the truth about this matter," laying my hand on his arm.
"Never, so help me God!" he said, earnestly.
"You have relieved me greatly," I said, pressing my lips on that dear and revered hand which had so often ministered to me and mine in sorest agony—a hand spotless as the heart within—yet, brown and withered as the leaves of autumn.
"Now you, in turn, must relieve me," he said, gravely. "Who was it that alleged these things? They were slanders, and deserve to be nailed to the wall, and shall be if power be mine to do so."
"I cannot tell you. Do not ask me. It was not asserted that you pronounced my disease epilepsy, but insinuated that you thought so. Dr. Physick's opinion was given to confirm this impression."
"Have you traitors in your own household, Miriam?" he asked, sternly.
I was silent—shedding quiet tears, however.
"I have thought so before," he said, low, between his set teeth. "But, thank God, you can put your foot on them all before very long!—This seems a nice young man you are going to marry, but I never liked his father. I say this frankly to you, child; but, in truth, I have had no sufficient reason for this distaste or prejudice—it is no more, I confess. You are very much in their hands for the present, I fear; but I hope they will do you justice."
"I shall not marry Claude Bainrothe," I rejoined at last, firmly. "Let this be perfectly understood between us two, Dr. Pemberton. That marriage will never take place!"
"Why, your own father told me you were engaged in October last!"