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When consciousness had become fully restored, and the danger was over, Marie had Milton go away. She had resolved upon her course of action.

One day when Mr. Salmon, in his smoking jacket, weak and pale, sat thinking, Marie, cuddled up to him, and stroking his hair. He knew something was coming, for, like her dear, dead mother before her, that was the girl's way.

"Father," she said, "you have been ill, very ill, but thank God you have been spared."

"Yes," said he, "and through your noble devotion."

"We did the best we could," she said, slyly.

"We," he said, "what we? Did you have help?"

"Yes, in your fever, you did not know, but it was Milton who braved all danger, and with me, sat up night after night, watching your slightest movement."

"And I hated him so," said Salmon. "He has heaped coals of fire upon my head, and has nobly shamed me."

"Father, believe me, the eye of love cannot be deceived," appealed the girl. "You have misjudged Milton."

"Perhaps," said he, "my darling, I have. I surrender!"

"In a moment, for joy, she was sobbing on her father's breast, and he, too, could not restrain a silent tear.

"Bring Milton to me," said Salmon, "he shall not outdo me in generosity; if he will but love and cherish you as I have done, I'll ask no more."

But a brief period elapsed and a happy trio were in conclave at the lawyer's residence.