“Her pride is humbled in the dust, and her dearest wish is to express her penitence and pray for forgiveness. Her sin was great, but, dear father, you have a noble heart. Is it shut against her forever?” What a light came over the pallid face, what strange new fire to the dim eyes, what deep emotion quivered in the voice that answered: “When your mother first entered into my heart Arthur, she locked the door and threw away the key forever. How could I bar her out after lifelong possession?” “Oh, father, what a constant heart! Yet she fears that you can never forgive her.” “In the passion of wounded love and anger, I swore that I would not, Arthur; but that was long ago, and in the face of death, how puerile these worldy resentments seem! Then, too, I believed she had wearied of me, believed me a fortune-hunter. Her wealth and her pride raised a wall between us. I could not dream that lips like hers could ever stoop to that word ‘forgive.’” “Would you like to hear her say it now, my father?” “No, Arthur, for it is needless. If she could come to me with another word--the dear word love--it would pay for all. How sweet to die with her hand in mine, her lips on my brow!” Ah, what a love was here!--so patient under cruel wrong, so faithful, so forgiving! Arthur’s nature bowed in reverence to its holiness. “She will come when you wish,” he said gently. “Let it be now, Arthur.” “But Doctor Deane said----” began his sister, uneasily. “I can not permit any one to dictate in this. Every moment of suspense counts against my life,” the patient answered, firmly, and Arthur went. It was but a little while before he returned with a drooping figure on his arm. Mrs. Flint safely withdrew to a window, with her back to the bed. Arthur led his mother to the bedside, and placed her in a chair. Then he took her cold and trembling hand, and placed it in that of his father. She thrilled with a passion of joy at the feeble pressure, and bent forward, pressing her quivering lips to his pale brow, whispering in a tempest of restrained emotion: “Oh, Everard, I wronged you--but I never ceased to love you!” And there was deep silence and rare happiness--even though the shadow of death hovered over the room. And presently she whispered, entreatingly: “Oh, Everard, do not die and leave me now! I can not let you go again! I will nurse you and tend you so faithfully that surely Heaven will give you back to me! And some day, when I have somewhat atoned by penitence and devotion, perhaps you will let me be your wife again.” “Ah, Paulina, if it might be _now_, for the doctor does not hold out any hope of life. But at least I should die happy, knowing you were mine again.” “You shall have your wish!” cried Arthur, hastening from the room. Then Everard Dawn called his sister to make friends with Paulina. “I should like for you to love each other when I am gone,” he said gently.