"Sit down, please, Elizabeth.

For a few days past, I've been pretty certain about myself--and to-night I screwed it out of Barnett.

I haven't said anything to you and mother, but--well, the long and short of it is, Lisa, I'm not going to recover--that's all nonsense--my heart's too dicky--I'm going to die." She protested with tears, but he impatiently asked her to be calm.

"I've got to say something--something important--and don't you make it harder, Elizabeth! I'm not going to get well, I tell you--and though I'm not of age--legally--yet I do represent father--I am the head of the family--and I have a right to think for you and mother.

Haven't I ?" The contrast between the authoritative voice, the echo of things in him, ancestral and instinctive, and the poor lad's tremulous fragility, was moving indeed.