For a moment her step-mother only looked at her, and then her lips stirred as if in an effort to speak, but she uttered only one word, "Forgive?" Dawn’s heart bounded with a sudden, unexpected pleasure, and the tears sprang to her eyes. "Of course!" she said briskly, "it’s all right, but you must lie still and help get well." A gentler light came into Mrs. Van Rensselaer’s anxious eyes. Once more, as if to make sure that she had heard aright, she murmured her question, "Forgive?" Dawn stooped impulsively and kissed her. Then an actual smile of peace settled into the hard face of die woman on the bed, changing it utterly. "It’s all right," said Dawn again eagerly. "And now, you must take your medicine and not talk any more. You are going to get well. The doctor says so, and you must go to sleep at once." She administered the new medicine, and with another smile like a tired child the sick woman sank away into a gentle, restful sleep. It was late in the afternoon of the following day that the doctor returned with Mrs. Van Rensselaer’s sister, who established herself by the bedside with energy and competence. The doctor, noticing Dawn’s wan look and sleep-heavy eyes, ordered her to go to bed at once or there would be two patients instead of one to look after. Mrs. Van Rensselaer he pronounced decidedly better. Dawn, as she slipped away from the sick room, felt dizzy and faint with weariness. She reflected that she would probably contract the disease herself, and it might come upon her suddenly. She had read of many cases that died almost at once. The thought gave her no alarm. It would be good to go quickly. She went to her own room feeling that she had come almost to the end of things. Her dress was torn and wet from much working with the hot water and flannels. Her face and hands were blackened with soot from the fire. Tired as she was she must freshen herself a little before going to sleep. She bathed and dressed in fresh garments that she found hanging in her closet, and put on the little white frock she had worn the day before her marriage, smoothed her hair, and then, taking a pillow and some comfortables from the bed, she went downstairs. The thought had come to her that it would be good to get out to the arbor again. If she were to die, it would be as well there as anywhere. As she passed down the garden walk, a rose thorn caught her white gown, and in freeing herself she noticed a spray of roses like those Charles had picked for her a year ago. Their fragrance seemed to touch her tired senses like healing balm. After she had spread her comfortables on the floor of the little summer-house, she stepped back and broke off the spray of roses, and lay down with their cool leaves against her hot cheek. Breathing in their odor, she fell into a deep sleep, in which no dreams came to ruffle her peace.