"Marie, I am finishing my letter to Mr. Winslow. What is there from your father he would like to hear?"
"Père wrote to me that Len Lawson had lost a good deal of his money trying to improve the Blue Vein mine. It is not so good now, as the vein is very small, and the stone is not so fine. Len has had the water fever for some time, and between the two he is changing."
"I have told him that you think you cannot leave your father for so long a time again. He does not show any sign of decline, but as he is so old you think that you should not be away from him so much."
"Yes, and père hopes to see Mr. Winslow this year."
"I will tell him so. I think that we will see him this year."
"It is late for him to return from that country, is it not?"
"Yes, but he says that he will have to come south at once."
"Why does he return this year? He said that it would take him another year to complete his work."
"Yes, he wrote to me that he could not expect to come home before next summer."
"Grace, do you think that he is in bad health? It is a terrible country, even for strong men," asked Marie, looking inquiringly into the face of her friend.
"His last letter does not say why he is returning so soon."
"He must be sick, Grace. That dreadful country, and he has been working so hard."
"I fear he has overworked himself, Marie, and he is compelled to return this year, a year earlier than he first intended."
"If he is not well, my dear father may not see him, even if he returns."
"He would not spend the summer here, and he could not do better than to go to Pierre Island, even in the autumn." As she spoke she laid her hand on Marie's arm, and looked up into her face with a loving expression of countenance.
"I hope he will come," said Marie, without the slightest embarrassment of manner. A soft look came into her eyes as she spoke her thoughts and feelings.
So it was that Marie had in the matured strength of her womanhood unconsciously consecrated her life to her love. Not by deliberate purpose had she done so, but every act and thought of her life were in accord with it, and it was announced in them and dominated her being and controlled her actions. It was akin to worship, yet there was not the slightest element of encouragement in it, so far as she was concerned. She lived happily with her love, nevertheless the forgetfulness of herself, and the disposition on her part to set aside her life for the good of others did not permit her to dwell upon any expectation. She clung firmly to what she had, and lived her years as a precious possession.