So he fell innocently into Octave’s little trap, and the girl was now fortified with all the information she required. The opportunity she craved had come, and, though she trembled a little, she improved it.
Melville had naturally asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean that, according to my Uncle Fritz, you are not what you think,—incurable.”
“The best physicians in the country have said I am!” cried the lad, mournfully.
“There is a better than the best, and he is ‘in the land’ now, if you will see him.”
“Who sent you in here to distress me like this?”
“My love for you.”
“Your love! A pretty way you take of showing it!”
“I think it is the best way, Cousin Melville.”
“It is cruel to raise false hopes like that.”