“The worst is not over yet,” he said. “Guy will offer to make you his wife, sacrificing Lucy for you, and if he does, what will my darling do?” Maddy’s heart leaped up into her throat, and for a moment prevented her from answering, for the thought of Guy’s really offering to make her his wife, to shield her from evil, to enfold her in his tender love, made her giddy with joy. But it could not be, and she answered through her tears: “I shall tell him no.” “God bless my Maddy! She will tell him no for Lucy’s sake, and God will bring it right at last,” the old man whispered, his voice growing very faint and tremulous. “She will tell him no,” he kept repeating, until, rousing up to greater consciousness, he spoke of Uncle Joseph, and asked what Maddy would do with him; would she send him back to the asylum, or care for him there? “He will be happier here,” he said, “but it is asking too much of a young girl like you. He may live for years.” “I do not know, grandpa. I hope I may do right. I think I shall keep Uncle Joseph with me,” Maddy replied, a shudder creeping over her as she thought of living out all her youth and possibly middle age with a lunatic. But her grandfather’s whispered blessings brought comfort with them, and a calm quiet fell upon her as she sat there listening to the words of prayer, and catching now and then her own name and that of Guy’s. “I am drowsy, Maddy. Watch while I sleep. Perhaps I’ll never wake again,” grandpa said, and clasping Maddy’s hands he fell away to sleep, while Maddy kept her watch beside him, herself falling into a troubled sleep, from which she was aroused by a clammy hand pressing on her forehead, and Uncle Joseph’s voice, which said: “Wake, my child. There’s been a guest here while you slumbered,” and he pointed to the rigid features of the newly dead. CHAPTER XX. THE BURDEN GROWS HEAVIER. Of the days which followed, Maddy had no distinct consciousness. She only knew that other hands than hers cared for the dead, that in the little parlor a stiff, white figure lay, that neighboring women stole in, treading on tiptoe, and speaking in hushed voices as they consulted, not her, but Mrs. Noah, who had come at once, and cared for her and hers so kindly. That she lay all day in her own room, where the summer breeze blew softly through the window, bringing the perfume of summer flowers, the sound of a tolling bell, of grinding wheels, the notes of a low, sad hymn, sung in faltering tones, and of many feet moving from the door. Then friendly faces looked in upon her, asking how she felt, and whispering ominously to each other as she answered: “Very well; is grandpa getting better?”