serious internal injury. In the doctor's opinion, he could never
hope to resume the active habits of his life. He would be an
invalid and a crippled man for the rest of his days.

Under these melancholy circumstances, the bailiff's employer did
all that could be strictly expected of him, He hired an assistant
to undertake the supervision of the farm work, and he permitted
Dermody to occupy his cottage for the next three months. This
concession gave the poor man time to recover such relics of
strength as were still left to him, and to consult his friends in
Glasgow on the doubtful question of his life to come.

The prospect was a serious one. Dermody was quite unfit for any
sedentary employment; and the little money that he had saved was
not enough to support his daughter and himself. The Scotch
friends were willing and kind; but they had domestic claims on
them, and they had no money to spare.

In this emergency, the passenger in the wrecked vessel (whose
life Dermody had saved) came forward with a proposal which took
father and daughter alike by surprise. He made Mary an offer of
marriage; on the express understanding (if she accepted him) that
her home was to be her father's home also to the end of his life.

The person who thus associated himself with the Dermodys in the
time of their trouble was a Dutch gentleman, named Ernest Van
Brandt. He possessed a share in a fishing establishment on the
shores of the Zuyder Zee; and he was on his way to establish a
correspondence with the fisheries in the North of Scotland when
the vessel was wrecked. Mary had produced a strong impression on
him when they first met. He had lingered in the neighborhood, in
the hope of gaining her favorable regard, with time to help him.
Personally he was a handsome man, in the prime of life; and he
was possessed of a sufficient income to marry on. In making his
proposal, he produced references to persons of high social
position in Holland, who could answer for hi m, so far as the
questions of character and position were concerned.

Mary was long in considering which course it would be best for
her helpless father, and best for herself, to adopt.

The hope of a marriage with me had been a hope abandoned by her
years since. No woman looks forward willingly to a life of
cheerless celibacy. In thinking of her future, Mary naturally
thought of herself in the character of a wife. Could she fairly
expect in the time to come to receive any more attractive
proposal than the proposal now addressed to her? Mr. Van Brandt
had every personal advantage that a woman could desire; he was
devotedly in love with her; and he felt a grateful affection for
her father as the man to whom he owed his life. With no other
hope in her heart--with no other prospect in view--what could she
do better than marry Mr. Van Brandt?

Influenced by these considerations, she decided on speaking the
fatal word. She said, "Yes."

At the same time, she spoke plainly to Mr. Van Brandt,
unreservedly acknowledging that she had contemplated another
future than the future now set before her. She did not conceal
that there had once been an old love in her heart, and that a new
love was more than she could command. Esteem, gratitude, and
regard she could honestly offer; and, with time, love might come.
For the rest, she had long since disassociated herself from the
past, and had definitely given up all the hopes and wishes once
connected with it. Repose for her father, and tranquil happiness
for herself, were the only favors that she asked of fortune now.
These she might find under the roof of an honorable man who loved
and respected her. She could promise, on her side, to make him a
good and faithful wife, if she could promise no more. It rested
with Mr. Van Brandt to say whether he really believed that he
would be consulting his own happiness in marrying her on these
terms.

Mr. Van Brandt accepted the terms without a moment's hesitation.

They would have been married immediately but for an alarming
change for the worse in the condition of Dermody's health.
Symptoms showed themselves, which the doctor confessed that he
had not anticipated when he had given his opinion on the case. He
warned Mary that the end might be near. A physician was summoned
from Edinburgh, at Mr. Van Brandt's expense. He confirmed the
opinion entertained by the country doctor. For some days longer
the good bailiff lingered. On the last morning, he put his
daughter's hand in Van Brandt's hand. "Make her happy, sir," he
said, in his simple way, "and you will be even with me for saving
your life." The same day he died quietly in his daughter's arms.

Mary's future was now entirely in her lover's hands. The
relatives in Glasgow had daughters of their own to provide for.
The relatives in London resented Dermody's neglect of them. Van
Brandt waited, delicately and considerately, until the first
violence of the girl's grief had worn itself out, and then he
pleaded irresistibly for a husband's claim to console her.

The time at which they were married in Scotland was also the time
at which I was on my way home from India. Mary had then reached
the age of twenty years.


The story of our ten years' separation is now told; the narrative


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