“Oh! mother, mother!” “Dying! me—me dying!” broke from those convulsed lips once more. Louis De Marke looked up. With his quivering hand he grasped that of the dying woman. “Yes, mother, believe me, there is but a little time for us to settle all that has gone ill between us. I came to ask you some questions, thinking to meet you in good health. The shock of finding you thus is terrible. I pray God, it is not too late for either of us.” “Dying! Take it back, take it back! I am well; no pain, no hunger, no thirst. Dying!” and with a miserable effort the woman strove to laugh, but the attempt went off in a gurgle of the throat. The young man made a great struggle for self-command; but he was very pale, and his lips quivered with the emotions he strove so firmly to suppress. “Yes, mother, I solemnly believe that this interview will be our last. Your hand is cold, your eyes are—oh! don’t look at me in that way,” he continued, shuddering at the glance she fixed upon him. “Next to the welfare of your soul—” She interrupted him, groping about with her hand. “My crucifix—my crucifix!” He searched under her pillow and around the dim room, while she followed him with her wild, despairing eyes. At last, as if with some sudden resolution, she shrieked out,— “It is gone—she stole it, she has pawned my soul.” The young man came back to the bed in great distress. He knelt by her side, and strove to soothe the despair that had evidently fallen upon her. “Oh, mother, strive to compose yourself; lift up your heart to God. It needs no crucifix. He is close by, even here.” The old woman started, and her wild eyes wandered fearfully around the room. “Pray to him, mother.” “No, it is lost, I have sold his Son—no, no.” “Mother, is there nothing that you wish to say? My brother George—have you no word for him?” “Hush, hush! he will take your portion. He married. He wished to rob you. Don’t speak to me of Elsie Ford’s son, or of his son either. Let them alone, and you shall be rolling in gold, rolling, rolling, like your mother!” The young man bent down and listened eagerly to her words. “Did my brother marry Catharine Lacy, then, with your knowledge?” “No, they tried to cheat me—to bring a son to claim your father’s property. She ought to have died, that Catharine Lacy.” “But she did not. Where is she now? Is she alive? Oh! tell me, mother. I shall never be happy again unless you do!” “Yes, she’s alive. I saw her myself, changed but alive. The other girl died. I didn’t want that, for she would have been rich, and you might have done well with her.” “Then you knew about my wife?” “Knew? yes! Did you think I was cheated?” “But why did you leave her to die there?” “How could I help it? She would hide herself till the last minute, and it was cheaper there. Sickness costs money, money, I tell you.” “And you are certain Louisa died in the hospital? But there is no register of her death!”