The dying creature clutched at the bed-clothes, and mumbled the words in pitiful earnest, after which Mrs. Flint knelt by the bed, and herself offered up a fervent prayer. “Oh, I’ve been bad and wicked all my life, hating God because I was poor! I don’t know how to get His favor now,” sighed the dying sinner; and Mrs. Flint answered, soothingly: “If you have done anything wicked that you can undo, now is the time to repent and get God’s forgiveness.” She saw a look of alarm come into the fading eyes, and Rachel plucked wildly at the counterpane, muttering: “I did a cruel wrong twenty years ago. I stole the baby daughter of a heart-broken young widow.” “Good heavens! how dreadful! Tell me all about it quickly, and perhaps something may yet be done to right the wrong,” cried Mrs. Flint, in dismay. But at that moment they were interrupted by the opening of the door, and Madame Ray glided in, murmuring in her sweet, soft voice: “They told me you were watching by a very sick woman, and as Cinthia is asleep, I thought I might be of some assistance to you.” She had never heard the name of Rachel Dane, and she came and stood by the bed, looking down, with pity and sympathy, at the poor soul. Rachel Dane turned her heavy eyes upward to the lovely face, and then uttered a cry of deadly fear: “My God! it is Mrs. Ray, come to haunt me in my dying hour!” “Rachel Dane, where is my child, my baby daughter?” cried the other, wildly; and, shaking with excitement, she added: “Do not die, miserable wretch, till you reveal the truth.” Mrs. Flint stared in wonder, and exclaimed: “The poor woman was just confessing to me that she had stolen a young widow’s child twenty years ago. Go on with your story, Rachel.” She pushed the agitated lady into a chair as she spoke, and waited with eager curiosity and sympathy for the next words. Rachel looked fearfully at the woman she had wronged, and muttered: “Do not look so wretched, lady, for all is well with your daughter, and she shall be restored to your arms.” “Thank God--thank God!” cried the mother, with a rush of glad tears. “So it was Madame Ray’s child that you stole, Rachel? But why did you do such a wicked thing?” cried her mistress.