Then kissing her forehead, he bade her go, and not come to him again until she had been some weeks a happy wife. Often during her bridal tour did Mildred’s thoughts turn back to that sick-room, and after her return, her first question was for Oliver. “Clubs is on his last legs,” was the characteristic answer of the Judge, while Richard added: “He has asked for you often, and been so much afraid you would not be here till he was dead.” “Is he so bad?” said Mildred; and calling Lawrence, who was tossing Edith in the air, she asked him to go with her to the gable-roof. At the sight of them a deep flush spread itself over the sick man’s cheek, and Mildred cried: “You are better than they told me. You will live yet many years.” “No, darling,” he answered; “I am almost home, and now that I have seen you again, I have no wish it should be otherwise. But, Milly, you must let me have your husband to-night. There is something I wish to tell him, and I can do it better when it is dark around me. Shall it be so, Milly?” “Yes, Olly,” was Mildred’s ready answer. And so that night, while she lay sleeping with Edith in her arms, Lawrence sat by Oliver listening to his story. “My secret should have died with me,” said Oliver, “did I not know that there is some merit in confession, and I hope thus to atone for my sin, if sin it can be, to love as I have loved.” “You, Oliver?” asked Lawrence, in some surprise; and Oliver replied: “Yes, Lawrence, I have loved as few have ever loved, and for that love I am dying long before my time. It began years and years ago, when I was a little boy, and in looking over my past life, I can scarcely recall a single hour which was not associated with some thought of the brown-haired girl who crept each day more and more into my heart, until she became a part of my very being.” Lawrence started, and grasping the hand lying outside the counterpane, said: “My Mildred, Oliver! I never dreamed of this.”