“Did you want ’Lina to come?” Mrs. Worthington asked. “Yes,” and Hugh’s lip quivered like a grieved child. “I’m going to die, and I wanted to tell her how sorry I am for the harsh things I’ve said to her. I’ve been crazy some, I guess, for nothing was clear in my mind—nothing but the words ‘Forgive as ye would be forgiven.’ They were the last I ever read in that little Bible you never saw. It’s in my trunk, and when I’m gone you’ll give it to Miss Johnson. I think she’s here; and you’ll tell ’Lina I was sorry, and if—if—if she’s ever sorry, tell her I forgive her, and wanted her to come so much. I thought, maybe, she’d kiss me; she never has since she was a little child. If she comes before you put me out of sight, ask her to kiss me in the coffin, because I was her brother. I shall be sure to know it. Will you, mother?” Mrs. Worthington could only sob as she pressed the hands she held between her own and tried to quiet him. Meantime Alice, in her own room, was reading ’Lina’s note, containing a most glowing description of the delightful time she was having at Saratoga, and how hard it would be to leave. “I know _dear Hugh_ is in good hands,” she wrote, “and it is so pleasant here that I really do want to stay a little longer. What a delightful lady that Mrs. Richards is—not one bit stiff as I can see. I don’t know what people mean, to call her proud. She has promised, if mamma will leave me here, to be my chaperon, and it’s possible we may visit New York together, so as to be there when the Prince arrives. Won’t that be grand? She talks so much of you that sometimes I’m really jealous. Perhaps I may go to Terrace Hill before I return, but I rather hope not, it makes me fidgetty to think of meeting the Misses Richards, though, of course, I know I shall like them, particularly Anna.” Not a word was there in this letter of the doctor, but Alice understood it all the same. _He_ was the attraction which kept the selfish girl from her brother’s side. “May she be happy with him,” was Alice’s mental comment, shuddering as she recalled the time when she was pleased with the handsome doctor, and silently thanking God who had saved her from much sorrow. Just then Adah came in, and sitting down by the window seemed to be looking at something far away, something, which brought to her face the sad hopeless expression, which Alice had often observed before. Drawing near to her Alice said softly, “Of what are you thinking, Adah?” There were no reserves now between the two girls, and laying her head in Alice’s lap, Adah sobbed, “I’m thinking of Willie’s father. Will he never come back? Can it be he meant to deceive me, Miss Johnson?” and Adah lifted up her head, disclosing a face which Alice scarcely recognized, for the strange expression there. “Miss Johnson, if I knew that George deliberately planned my ruin under the guise of a mock marriage, and then when it suited him deserted me as a toy of which he was tired, _I should hate him!_”