“Last week at the Embassy in Paris.  Cicely wrote to Aunt Emily at New Year, telling her that though I was much better, the doctors had said I should be a cripple for life.  Well, we never had any answer at all to that letter,—­not a word of regret, or affection or sympathy.  Then,—­this morning—­behold!—­the Roxmouth wedding cards!”

She took a silver-bordered envelope lying on a little table close beside her, and drawing out from it the cards in question, held them up to his view.  Walden glanced at them with a touch of contempt.

“Shall I wire our united heartiest congratulations?” he queried, smiling—­“And add that we are engaged to be married?”

“Do!” said Maryllia, clasping his hand in her own and kissing it—­ “Go and send the wire off through dear old Mrs. Tapple!  And then all the village will know how happy I am!”

“How happy we are,”—­corrected John—­“I think they know that already, Maryllia!  But it shall be well impressed upon them!”

Later on, when he was in the village, making his usual round of visits among the sick and poor, and receiving the affectionate good wishes of many who had heard the news of his betrothal, he saw Dr. Forsyth driving up to the Manor in his gig with another man beside him, who, as he rightly guessed, was no other than the celebrated Italian specialist, Santori.  Forsyth had promised to come and tell him the result of the consultation as soon as he knew it himself, and Walden waited for him hour after hour with increasing impatience.  At last he appeared,—­pale, and evidently under the influence of some strongly suppressed excitement.

“Walden,”—­he said, without preface or hesitation—­“are you prepared to face a great crisis?”

Walden’s heart almost stood still.  Had anything happened to Maryllia in the short space of time which had elapsed since he saw her last?

“What do you mean?!” he faltered—­“I could not bear to lose her—­ now—–­”

“You must lose her in a year at the utmost, if you do not run the risk of losing her to save her now,”—­said Forsyth, bluntly—­ “Santori has seen her—­and—­keep cool, John!—­he says there is just one chance of restoring her to her former health and activity again, but it is a chance fraught with imminent danger to her life.  He will not risk it without her full consent,—­and (knowing you are her betrothed husband)—­yours.  It is a very serious and difficult operation,—­she may live through it, and she may not.”

“I will not have it!” said Walden, quickly, almost fiercely, “She shall not be touched—–­”

“Wait!” continued Forsyth, regarding him steadily—­“In her present condition, she will die in a year.  She must.  There is no help for it.  If Santori operates—­and he is quite willing to undertake it—­ she may live,—­and not only may she live, but she may be absolutely strong and well again,—­able to walk and ride, and enjoy her life to the full.  It rests with her and with you to decide,—­yes or no!”