Later.—I had to lay aside my pen and rest, and now my hands tremble with weakness; but justice to one who has never received justice at my hands urges me to make my confession. Harold, I cannot remember the time when I did not feel jealous of you. As a child, you were loving in nature, winning your way without effort to every heart. You were mother's pet and pride. Father could scarcely see a fault in his big, brave, and beautiful boy. When Aunt Sarah came, all that I could say to prejudice her against you had no effect. She loved and trusted you. She said you would love me if I would let you. She said few had so forgiving a nature. She tried to persuade me to be at peace and allow Will, my idol, to love you. I will say that when we used to walk into church, I was proud of you. All my companions envied me and my brother. This made me hate you more than ever. If you had been plain and unattractive, I think it would have been different with me,—but perhaps not, for my heart was full of envy and jealousy. Now you know the secret of all my conduct. I was possessed with a devil and, instead of trying to cast him out, I cherished him. Harold, before you reached home to see father die he begged me to love you as I loved Will. He gave Will into your special care. He wrote you a loving letter, telling you his plans and wishes for your future, that he left the care of Will's education and his little property to you. If he died, it was to be yours. If you died, Will was to inherit what you left. How I hated him for this! I had a legacy from Aunt Mary which, with my share, would be enough for me, he said. How I hated him for writing this! The breath had scarcely left his body before I tore the paper to pieces. Will you forgive me, brother? Later.—I must hasten on, for my life is fast drawing to a close, and I have that to tell you which will relieve you of a great sorrow, —I mean in regard to the last dreadful scene at home. Tears stream from my eyes as I remember your patience with me, your efforts to win my sisterly love. Oh how one expression of yours has rung in my memory! "Sister Stella, why won't you let me love you? I will try to please you, and we might be so happy?" Oh, why! why!