"Yes," answered the doctor, gently; "he is here. Mr. Webster, will you come and speak to Miss Weir?" Upon this Webster, with faltering footsteps, also approached the bed, where, swathed and bandaged, lay the once lovely form of Kathleen Weir! "Send everyone away, doctor," continued Kathleen, in the same faint, low tone; "I wish to speak to Mr. Webster alone." The doctor and the nurse at once left the room, and then Kathleen spoke to Webster. "Well, this is a great change," she said. Webster was deeply agitated, and his voice broke and faltered as he strove to express his regret and sorrow. "It came so suddenly," continued Kathleen; "like a bad dream--only there was no waking from it." "How did it happen?" asked Webster, much moved. "I tripped and fell over a cushion someone had left lying on the floor, and to save myself caught at a lamp and overturned it. I was like a mad creature last night, I think. After you left I went to the theater, and had people to supper, and we made merry, when--well, Mr. Webster, I seemed to care for nothing more; when the world seemed for me--as it is." "Oh, hush, hush! do not speak thus, I entreat you!" "Well, you have nothing to blame yourself for, at least. You acted like an honest man, and I admired you when--you gave me a blow that was far more bitter than you guessed of. But it is all over now. John Temple will be free without his divorce; and if it was money that parted you from the girl or woman you cared for, it need part you no longer--for I have left you all I have to leave." "Miss Weir--Kathleen! Why have you done this? I want no money; I can not take it!" "But you must, my friend; do not talk nonsense--what good can it do me now? Yes, it does do me some good, to be able thus to show you what I really think of you; to mark how I estimate you--and if it makes you happy even with someone else--" "No money will make me happy--it was not money," answered Webster with inexpressible pain in his face. It flashed across his mind indeed at this moment that the very death of this wayward, generous heart would end all his hopes; would leave John Temple free. "At all events, I hope you will be happy--some day," went on Kathleen, after a little pause; "so I sent for you to tell you this, and--to bid you good-by. But I don't believe it will be forever. I have a vague foreshadowing of another life--another and a better one--even for a poor sinner like me. And after all, one is often tired here--tired by the shams and follies--I feel tired now--"