“He behaved like a madman at times,” declared Crawford.  “And at others he would almost beg me on his knees to give you up.  I asked him why.  I told him over and over again that he should be proud to have such a girl for his daughter-in-law.  I said everything I could.  I told him I would do anything for him—­anything he asked—­except give you up.  That I would not do.  And it was the only thing he seemed to wish me to do.  Talked about bringing shame and disgrace on his head and mine—­and all sorts of wild nonsense.  When I asked what he meant by disgrace he could not tell me.  Of course he couldn’t.”

That was true, of course he could not tell.  Mary knew, and she realized once more the tortures which the man must have suffered, must be suffering at that moment.

“So at last we parted,” said Crawford.  “I left word—­left a letter saying that, so far as I could see, it was best that I went away.  We could not agree apparently, he and I, upon the one point which, as I saw it, was the most important decision of my life.  And I had made that decision.  I told him how much I hated to leave him; that I loved him as much as I ever did.  ‘But,’ I said, ’I shall not give up my happiness and my future merely to gratify your unreasonable whim.’  Then I came away and started East to you.”

He paused, evidently expecting Mary to make some comment or ask a question, but she was silent.  After a moment he went on.

“I haven’t made any definite plans as yet,” he said.  “I have another year at the Medical School—­or should have it.  I am hoping that I may be able to go back to the Harvard Med. here in Boston and work my way through.  Other chaps have done it and I’m sure I can.  And after that—­well, after that I must take my chance at finding a location and a practice, like any other young M.D.  But first of all, Mary, I want you to tell me that you will wait for me.  It’s a lot to ask; I know how much.  But will you, Mary dear?  That’s what I’ve come here for—­to get you to say that you will.  After that I can face anything—­yes, and win out, too.”

Mary looked at him.  His face was aglow with earnestness and his voice shook as he finished speaking.  He rose and held out his hands.

“Will you, Mary?” he begged.

She looked at him no longer.  She was afraid to do so—­afraid of her own weakness.  But no sign of that weakness showed itself in her tone as she answered.

“I’m sorry, Crawford,” she said, gently.  “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Can’t!  Can’t wait for me?”

“I could wait for you, it isn’t that.  If it were merely a question of waiting—­if that were all—­how easy it would be!  But it isn’t.  Crawford, you must go back to your father.  You must go back to him and forget all about me.  You must.”

He stared at her for a moment.  Then he laughed.

“Forget you!” he repeated.  “Mary, are you—­”

“Oh, please, Crawford!  Don’t make this any harder for both of us than it has to be.  You must go back to your father and you must forget me.  I can not marry you, I can’t.”