I am very young to die; and he loves me so dearly." The old man bustled away to put on something warmer for his night walk, and Rosa leaned back, and the tears welled out of her eyes, now he was gone.
Before she had recovered her composure, a letter was brought her, and this was the letter from Christopher Staines, alluded to already.
She took it from the servant with averted head, not wishing it to be seen she had been crying, and she started at the handwriting; it seemed such a coincidence that it should come just as she was sending for him.
MY OWN BELOVED ROSA,--I now write to tell you, with a heavy heart, that all is vain.

I cannot make, nor purchase, a connection, except as others do, by time and patience.

Being a bachelor is quite against a young physician.

If I had a wife, and such a wife as you, I should be sure to get on; you would increase my connection very soon.

What, then, lies before us?
I see but two things--to wait till we are old, and our pockets are filled, but our hearts chilled or soured; or else to marry at once, and climb the hill together.