“It can't be helped now, and you ought not to vex yourself; but I believe a letter would have done more for her than... What am I saying now? “As she grew weaker she counted the hours, and I left her at four full of hope. 'Two hours more and he'll be here,' and by that time she had your telegram in her hand. “When I came back the change had come, and she said, 'It's not God's will; bring Bertie.' “So she kissed him, and said something to him, but we did not listen. After the nurse had carried him out--for he was weeping bitterly, poor little chap--she whispered to me to get a sheet of paper and sit down by her bedside.... I think it would be better... very well, I will tell you all. “I wrote what she dictated with her last breath, and I promised you would receive it from her own hand, and so you will. She turned her face to the door and lay quite still till about six, when I heard her say your name very softly, and a minute afterwards she was gone, without pain or struggle.”... She lay as she had died, waiting for his coming, and the smile with which she had said his name was still on her face. It was the first time she did not colour with joy at his coming, that her hand was cold to his touch. He kissed her, but his heart was numbed, and he could not weep. Then he took her letter and read it beside that silence. “Dearest,-- “They tell me now that I shall not live to see you come in and to cast my arms once more round your neck before we part Be kind to Bertie, and remember that he is delicate and shy. He will miss me, and you will be patient with him for my sake. Give him my watch, and do not let him forget me. My locket with your likeness I would like left on my heart. You will never know how much I have loved you, for I could never speak. You have been very good to me, and I want you to know that I am grateful; but it is better perhaps that I should die, for I might hinder you in your future life. Forgive me because I came short of what your wife should have been. None can ever love you better. You will take these poor words from a dead hand, but I shall see you, and I shall never cease to love you, to follow your life, to pray for you--my first, my only love.” The fountains within him were broken, and he flung himself down by the bedside in an agony of repentance. “Oh, if I had known before; but now it is too late, too late!” For we sin against our dearest not because we do not love, but because we do not imagine. II