“Yes, let him rest while he can. It will soon be over, and then a dungeon for _him_, and darkness, and blankness, and utter forgetfulness for me; Aggie, that’s all a fable about a hereafter,—a rag of mythology which recent science has torn in shreds. We do not go somewhere when we die; we perish like the brutes.” “Oh, no, no! God forbid!” and falling on her knees, with her hands clasped together, Agnes murmured words of prayer for the soul so deluded and deceived. “Hush, Agnes,” Josephine said, almost fiercely. “There’s more important work on hand just now than praying for one who does not want your prayers, for even if there be a hereafter, it’s now too late for me, and I care no more for it than a stone. I cannot feel, and it’s no use to try. If there is a hell, which I don’t believe, I shall go there; if there is not, then I am all right, and the sooner I am like the clods the better; but I must do one good act. Agnes, do you think Everard would come here to-night if he knew I was dying,—for I am; I feel it, and I must tell him something, which will perhaps make him think more kindly of me than he does now. Can you manage it for me?” “No, no,” Agnes exclaimed. “He would not come here to-night of all others, because——” She checked herself suddenly, and then added: “Listen to the rain and the wind; did you ever hear such a storm?” “Yes, I hear,” Josephine replied, excitedly. “It was sent for me, and I am going out on its wings, but it seems dreary to go in such a way. Oh, Aggie, if there should be a hereafter,—but there is not. We all do sleep,—sleep. But Everard, Everard,—I must see him, or maybe you would tell him when I am dead. Lock the door, Aggie; then come close to me and swear,—swear that you will tell him,—that Rossie——Oh, Agnes, I am so afraid of him,—the doctor, that I dare not say it!” and on the white face there was a look of terror such as Agnes had never seen before. There could be no doubt in her mind as to what her sister meant, and regardless of consequences, she bent down and whispered: “I know,—I understand. Rossie is not dead. She is alive and coming home.” “How do you know? Have you seen the letter?” Josephine almost shrieked, and Agnes replied: “Yes, I found it under the carpet long ago, just after I came here, but I did not suppose that you had ever seen it.” “I had; I did; I put it there,” Josephine said, gasping out the story of her having taken it from the office, and the hiding it afterward. “And you found it? Where is it now?” she asked, and Agnes replied: “I gave it to Miss Belknap, and she——” Agnes did not finish, for Josephine started upright in bed, exclaiming: “I see; I know. She went suddenly to Europe,—to find Rossie; tell me the truth. Has she found her, and is she coming home, and what will it be for him?” Agnes knew that by _him_ Dr. Matthewson was meant, and she replied unhesitatingly: “State prison for him and poverty for you.”