“They shall not,” was Maddy’s reply; and from that moment the past, so far as Agnes was concerned, was a sealed page to both. With this bond of confidence between them, Agnes felt herself strangely drawn towards Maddy, while, if it were possible, something of her olden love was revived for the helpless man who clung to her now instead of Maddy, refusing to let her go; neither had Agnes any disposition to leave him. She should stay to the last, she said; and she did, taking Maddy’s place, and by her faithfulness and care winning golden laurels in the opinion of the neighbors, who marveled at first to see so gay a lady at Uncle Joseph’s bedside, attributing it all to her friendship for Maddy, just as they attributed his calling for Sarah to a crazy freak. She did resemble Sarah Morris a very little, they said; and in Maddy’s presence they sometimes wondered where Sarah was, and if she was happy with the old man whom she married, and who they had heard was not so rich after all, as most of the money belonged to the son, who inherited it from his mother; but Maddy kept the secret from every one, so that even Jessie never suspected why her mother staid day after day at the cottage; watching and waiting until the last day of Joseph’s life. She was alone with him when he died, and Maddy never knew what passed between them. She had left them together for an hour, while she did some errands; and when she returned, Agnes met her at the door, and with a blanched cheek whispered: “He is dead; he died in my arms, blessing you and me. Surely my sin is now forgiven.” CHAPTER XXII. BEFORE THE BRIDAL. There was a fresh grave made in the churchyard, and another chair vacant at the cottage, where Maddy was at last alone. Unfettered by care and anxiety for sick ones, her aching heart was free to go to the stately mansion she had heard described so often, and where now two brides were busy with their preparations for the bridal hurrying on so fast. Since the letter read in the leafless October woods, Maddy had not heard from Guy directly, though Lucy had written a few brief lines, telling how happy she was, how strong she was growing, and how much like himself Guy was becoming. Maddy had been less than a woman if the last intelligence had failed to affect her unpleasantly. She did not wish Guy to regret his decision; but to be forgotten so soon after so strong protestations of affection was a little mortifying, and Maddy’s heart throbbed painfully as she read the letter, half hoping it might prove the last she should receive from Lucy Atherstone.