Lover or Friend

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

'They will keep, and I have nothing to do this morning,' he remarked carelessly, as he took them up and laid them down again.

After all, he would not be sorry to read them alone. There was an Indian letter, and one from Audrey, and several notes that were evidently invitations.

When Kester had left him, he sat down in an easy-chair by the window. There was a little table beside him, with a red jar full of brown leaves and chrysanthemums. He picked out one and played with it for a moment, and then Booty jumped up uninvited and curled himself up on his knee.

He read the invitations first, and then threw them aside.

'I shall be at Rutherford,' he thought; and then he opened his Indian letter.

It was from a fellow-officer, and contained an amusing account of a visit he had lately paid to Calcutta. Just at the end it said: 'By the bye, somebody told me the other day that your uncle, Mr. Carlisle, was ill. He has got a nasty attack, and the doctors are shaking their heads over him. The fellow who told me—it was Donarton—mentioned that you were likely to take a lively interest in the news. Is that true, old man, or has Mr. Carlisle any nearer relative than yourself? From what I hear, he is a sort of nabob in these parts.'

Captain Burnett put down this letter, and looked dreamily out of the window. Was it really so, he wondered? Major Glenyow was not the sort of fellow to mention a mere report. His uncle was by no means an old man, and once or twice a rumour of his intended marriage had reached his ears, but it had never been verified. If it were true that his uncle were in a bad way, that he should not recover, then, indeed, there was a possibility. And here, in spite of himself, Michael fell into a day-dream.

If he were rich, if he had sufficient to offer a comfortable home and some of the luxuries of life to the woman he wished to make his wife, would it be right for him to speak? For years his poverty and ill-health had kept him silent; he had made no sign: he had been her faithful friend and cousin—that was all!

But now, if the pressure of narrow means were removed, if, after all, he were his uncle's heir—as he verily believed himself to be—might he not venture to plead his cause at last? His health was better, and his doctor had often told him, half seriously and half in joke, that all he needed was a good wife to take care of him.

'I shall never be as strong as other men,' he said to himself; 'some women might object to me on that score. But she is not that sort: she loves to take care of people, to feel herself necessary to them.' And here a smile came to his lips. 'I have never spoken to her, never dropped a hint of my feelings; but, somehow, I do not think she would be surprised if I ever told them—we have been so much to each other. I think I could teach her to love me in time—at least, I would try, my sweet.' And here there was a sudden gleam and fire in his eyes, and then he took up Audrey's letter, and began to read it.