I went first around to the outer door of the dining-room, and was briefly told the best I could have hoped, of Fontenette. I returned to the front and stepped softly into what had been Mrs. Fontenette's room. Finding no one in it I waited, and when I presently heard voices in the other room, I touched its door-knob. Mrs. Smith came out, closed the door carefully, and sank into a seat. "It's been a noble fight!" she said, smiling up through her tears. "When the doctor came back and saw how wonderfully the--the worst--had been held off, he joined in the battle! He's been here three times since!" "And can it be that she is going to pull through?" My wife's face went down into her hands. "O, no--no. She's dying now-- dying in Senda's arms!" Her ear, quicker than mine, heard some sign within and she left me. But she was back almost at once, whispering: "She knows you're here, and says she has a message to her husband which she can give only to you." We gazed into each other's eyes. "Go in," she said. As I entered, Senda tenderly disengaged herself, went out, and closed the door. I drew near in silence and she began at once to speak, bidding me take the chair Senda had left, and with a tender smile thanking me for coming. Then she said faintly and slowly, but with an unfaltering voice, "I want you to know one or two things so that if it ever should be my husband's affliction to find out how foolish and undutiful I have been, you can tell them to him. Tell him my wrongdoing was, from first to last, almost totally--almost totally----" "Do you mean--intangible?" "Yes, yes, intangible. Then if he should say that the intangible part is the priceless part--the life, the beauty, the very essence of the whole matter--isn't it strange that we women are slower than men to see that-- tell him I saw it, saw it and confessed it when for his sake I was slipping away from him by stealth out of life up to my merciful Judge. "I may not be saying these things in their right order, but--tell him I wish he'd marry again; only let him first be sure the woman loves him as truly and deeply as he is sure to love her. I find I've never truly loved him till now. If he doesn't know it don't ever tell him; but tell him I died loving him and blessing him--for the unearned glorious love he gave me all my days. That's all. That's all to him. But I would like to send one word to"--she lifted her hand-- "Across the street?" I murmured. Her eyes said yes. "Tell _him_--you may never see the right time for it, but if you do--tell him I craved his forgiveness." I shook my head.