"Don't you think on the subject?" "Yes; I think that I like the bitter better when it is concealed." "You wouldn't, if you knew, if you had tried it, child." "Oh, I have taken a Dover's-powder often, and I always bury it in sirup." She looked a little startled, odd look at me. "Do you think I'm talking about that simple powder that I've been taking?" "Weren't you?" "Come here, innocent little thing!" she said, and motioned me to a footstool at her feet. Her adjectives were both very unsuitable, when applied to me; but I was nurse, and must yield to the whim of my patient. "Kate, look after Mr. Axtell." Poor Kate went out, more from the habit of obedience than apparently to obey any such behest; but she went, nevertheless. "I know who you are; I knew your mother," she said. "Never attempt to cover up bitterness; it has its use in the world." "Will you go to bed now? It's very late," I ventured. She went on as though I had not spoken at all,-- "There's somebody dead down-stairs, there,--now,--this minute;--but dead,--dead,--gone beyond my reach.--Child! child! do you know, do you feel what I mean?" "How can I? I haven't seen her; I never saw her." "She's dead,--she's dead,--and I meant to--oh! I meant to do it before she died. Why didn't something tell me? Things do come and speak to me sometimes,--why not last night?" I got anxious. Was this what the doctor meant by incoherent talking? Away up the village-street I heard the bell striking for midnight. "It is time you were asleep; please try and sleep." My words did not stay her; she went on,-- "If it only had,--then,--at the last,--she might have forgiven;--yes,--think, it might have been,--and it _is_ not,--no, it _is not_!--and she lies dead, down-stairs, in the very room!--But are you sure? Perhaps she isn't dead. Such things have been." Oh! what should I do? I thought of Katie. "The next door," she said; there were but two in the room; it must be this one, then. I opened it. "No, this is a closet,--dresses are hanging there," I thought; "but there is a door leading out from it." I looked back to the chair, where Miss Axtell still sat; she was talking to herself, as if I had not left the room. I could not venture to open this unknown door without a light to flow into its darkness. I went back into the room and took up a lamp. "What are you doing?" Miss Axtell stopped to ask; then, forgetting me, she resumed her self-questioning.