Softly touching the delicate wrist in its dainty frill, he noted the somewhat fitful pulsations of the disturbed life-centers.  Bending above the tell-tale heart-beats, his practiced ear assured him that ere long the deep repose of his charge would effectually restore her to health.

How like chiseled marble she looked, lying there in her absolute helplessness beneath his stranger gaze!  How pure the white brow, with its clustering rings of glossy hair!  How exquisitely fine the white hand to which the dimples of babyhood yet clung!  How classic the contour of her face, into which already the warm hue of health was creeping!  A heavy sigh escaped him as he noted each perfection of outline.  Who was this lovely stranger?  And what could she be to him?

“Why was I ever such a dupe?” he said in his heart.  “Fettered—­fettered for life!”

But suddenly realizing that except in his professional capacity he had no right thus to intrude upon her slumbers, the young physician turned from the enchanting picture.

“How is she now, sir?” respectfully inquired the housekeeper.

“Fairly well,” he replied cheerfully; “I do not think she is hurt, except a few bruises, which we must look after.  She was thrown pretty hard against that tree.  To-morrow she will be able to give an account of herself.  We can do nothing toward finding her friends before that time.  Call, if she should become restless,” and the young man retired to his own apartment, there to ponder deeply, as he had never before pondered in his life.

Some days later the following letter was posted by Weldon Gardner: 

  NEW YORK, September 20, 1879.

  “My Dear Aunt:—­

“Your kind letter reminds me that never, in all these years of boyhood grown ripe, has duty come to me in as repulsive a form as now, I tell you, shocked as you may feel when you read the words, that I would rather put a bullet through my head than meet Evelyn Howard at this time!  Why couldn’t she stay in England?  And what cursed folly induced my parents to thus bind me for life to one I had never seen?  True, I submitted.  But you know with what an appeal my dying mother besought my compliance, and what could I do?  I cared for no one else.  How was I to foresee that the tie would ever be so intensely galling?

“I know all that you would say about honor, manhood, and all the category of virtues.  I know them all.  Nor am I willing to act the scoundrel just yet.  But I must have time; I can not marry that girl now.  Nor will I consent to meet her yet.  Let her think I am out of town, sick, busy, dead; anything, till I can screw my courage to the sticking point.

“About the balloon tragedy—­yes, you heard correctly of my figuring in the matter.  The girl is Miss Lina Dent, of Brooklyn, and I am happy to report that she is entirely recovered, though deeply afflicted at the fearful death of her friends.