“I remember that Mabel and I,” she continued, dreamily, after a long pause--then correcting herself, “I ask your pardon, Frederic! I said I wouldn't speak of her ever again to you, but we were so much together in those days. Moreover, it has troubled me at times, that you did not know who your real friends were, and she did like you--and--and--what am I saying! You shouldn't let me run on so!” She raised her hand with difficulty, and tried to wipe away the film gathering over her dilated eyes. “Never mind, my darling! Do not attempt to talk! You are too weak and tired!” said her husband, tenderly. “Tired!” catching at the word, “That is it! There is nothing else the matter, whatever Dr. Ritchie and the rest of them may say. Tired! for how many years I have been THAT! It seems like a thousand. This world is a tiresome place to most people, I think I shall never forget how jaded Mabel looked that week,” breaking off, as before, with a frightened start, such as a dreamer gives when he fancies he is falling from an immeasurable height. “Indeed, Fred, dear!” feeling for his hand upon the coverlet, “I did not mean to wound or offend you. It was a terrible ordeal for you, my love! But you came out of it as silver seven times refined. That is what the text says--isn't it? And you and Aunt Rachel are friends once more! That is one good deed I have done. I hope it will be recorded up THERE! Heaven knows there are not so many that I can afford to have one overlooked!” Another season of dozing, and she awoke, rubbing her hands feebly together, as to cleanse them. “My hands ought to be whiter--purer! I know what ails them. I should have picked up the letter she--Mrs. Sutton--wrote you. But I loved you so--even then!” beseechingly. “You will not hate me when I am gone? I mean when you get back to Philadelphia, and I am well enough to be left here. I was sure, if you got it, you would come to Ridgeley, and I let it go down the stream--down--down! Frederic!” “I am here, dearest!” slipping his arm under, and raising her, as her shrill cry rang out, and she grasped the empty air. “Rosa, my WIFE!” “I thought I was strangling--in the water! I am your wife--am I not? She couldn't take you from me if she were here. I wish she were! I always liked Mabel. She was a good, true woman--but she did not love you as I did!” Panting for breath, she leaned upon her husband's breast, and her eyelids fell together again. Only for a moment! Then a smile--fond, sweet, and penitent--played among the ashy shadows encircling her mouth. “Poor little Florence! I am sorry I was cross to her. Tell her so, papa!” Her husband stooped to kiss her, laid her back upon the pillows, closed the sightless eyes, and left Mrs. Sutton alone with the dead. CHAPTER XVII. -- AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS.