"You're surprised I should address you, Mr. Heriot," she said. "I shouldn't have, but _she_ wants me to beg you to speak to her, if it's only for five minutes. She implores you humbly to let her speak to you. She made me ask you; I couldn't say 'no.'" His pulses throbbed madly, and momentarily he couldn't reply. "What purpose would it serve?" he said in tones he struggled to make firm. "She can't bear it, Mr. Heriot--_Sir_ Heriot, I should say; I was forgetting, I'm sure I beg your pardon! She 'implores you humbly to let her speak to you'; I was to use those words. Won't you consent? She is ill, she's dying." "Dying?" whispered Heriot by a physical effort. She nodded slowly. "The doctor has told her. She won't be here long, poor girl. But whether she's to be pitied for it or not, it's hard to say; I don't think she'll be sorry to go.... My brother is gone, Sir Heriot." His answer was inarticulate. "We got there just at the end. If we had been too late, she----She has been ailing a long while, but we didn't know it was so serious. When she saw you, it was awful for her. I---- Oh, what am I to tell her? She's waiting now!" "Where?" said Heriot, hoarsely. "Will you come with me?" "Show me," he said; "show me where she is." He still heard the knell of it--"Dying!" He heard it as the lonely figure in the darkness rose: "Thank you, I am grateful." The familiar voice knocked at his heart. "Mrs. Baines has told me you are ill. I am grieved to learn how ill you are." "It doesn't matter. It was good of you to come; I thought you would. I--I have prayed to speak to you again!" "It wasn't much to ask," he said; "I--am human." He could see that she trembled painfully. He indicated the chair that she had left, and drew one closer for himself. Then for a minute there was silence. "Do you hate me?" she said. He shook his head. "Should I have come to tell you so?" "But you can never forgive me?" "Why distress yourself? If for a moment I hesitated to come, it was because I _knew_ it would be distressing for you. Perhaps a refusal would have been kinder after all." "No, no; I was sure you wouldn't refuse. She doubted; but _I_ was sure. I said you'd come when you heard about me." "Is it so serious? What is it? Tell me; I know nothing." "It's my lungs: they were never very strong, you remember. The doctor told me in Duluth: 'Perhaps a year,' if I am 'very careful.' I'm _not_ very careful--it'll soon be all over. Don't look like that! Why should you care? _I_ don't care--I don't want to live a bit. Only----Do you think, if--if there's anything afterwards, that a woman who's gone wrong like me will be punished?" "For God's sake," he said, "don't talk so!" "But _do_ you? It makes one think of these things when one knows one has only a very little time to live. _You_ can't forgive me--you said so."