Again we waited in anguished silence, and soon the change came just as the doctor said it would. Christopher's eyes opened naturally and I saw that the glassy stare had gone out of them. He knew where he was, he knew what he was saying, he would recognize me, if he saw me; but I drew back into the shadows of the room where I could watch him without being seen. I wanted to think what I must do. Christopher beckoned Seraphine and the doctor to come close to him. "I want you to write something for me," he said in weak tones but quite distinctly to Seraphine. "I may not come out of this. I--I don't care very much whether I do or not, but--get some paper--please--and a pencil. The most important thing is about my money--all that I have--everything in the world, understand? I--I leave it all to the only woman I have ever loved--or ever could love--Penelope Wells." When he had said this he settled back on the pillow and breathed heavily but with a certain sense of relief, as if his mind was now at rest. I bit my lip until my teeth cut into it to keep myself from crying out. "You are both witnesses to this--to what I have said--you've written it down?" he looked at Seraphine and the doctor who nodded gravely. "You must find Penelope and tell her that--that she made a mistake to go away. I understand why she did it, but it was a mistake. Tell her I said that we all of us have a whole lot to be sorry for and we must not only ask to be forgiven, but we must be glad to accept the forgiveness of others for--for whatever we have done that is wrong, and we must believe that they are sincere in forgiving us. Tell her that I would have been glad to--to forgive her for--for everything." His strength was evidently failing and the doctor told him that he had better not try to talk any more. But Christopher smiled in that quaint brave way that I knew so well and lifted his thin white hands in protest. "Just one thing more--please. It won't make any particular difference, doc, and I want to say it. I want you to be sure to tell her this--write it down. Tell her two things. One is that there isn't any argument about my loving her because I am dying for her--now--that's a fact. There isn't anything else I want to live for if I can't have Penelope. The other thing is that--" He paused as a violent spasm of coughing shook his wasted body, and again the doctor told him to be quiet, but he gave no heed. "The other thing is--be sure to tell her this--that I would sooner have lived with Penelope--I don't care how many devils she was possessed with--than with all the saints in the calendar. I loved her--" He struggled to raise himself and then lifting his voice in a supreme effort, "I loved her good or bad. I--I couldn't help loving her. There--that's all. Let me sign it."