"In fact, when that was suggested to her--I am sure I need hardly say that I at once suggested it--she thought, and perhaps wisely, that it would be better you should not meet." Minola drew back, and stood as Mr. Heron had been standing near the chimney-piece. She did not speak. "But Mrs. Saulsbury begged me to convey to you the assurance of her entire and cordial forgiveness." Minola bowed gravely. "And her hope that you will be happy in life and be guided toward true ends, and find that peace which it has been her privilege to find." Minola bore all this without a word. "What shall I say to her from you?" he asked. "Miss Grey, remember that she is dying." The caution was not needed. "Say that I thank her," said Minola in a low, subdued tone. "Say that, after what flourish your nature will, Mr. Sheppard. I suppose I was wrong as much as she. I suppose it was often my fault that we did not get on better. Say that I am deeply grieved to hear that she is so dangerously ill, but that I hope--oh, so sincerely!--that she may yet recover." Mr. Sheppard looked into her eyes with puzzled wonder. Was she speaking in affected meekness, or in irony, as was her wont? Was the proud, rebellious girl really so gentle and subdued? Could it be that she took thus humbly Mrs. Saulsbury's pardon? Yes, it seemed all genuine. There was no constraint on the lines of her lips; no scorn in her eyes. In truth, the sympathetic and generous heart of the girl was touched to the quick. The prospect of death sanctified the woman who had been so hard to her, and turned her cold, self-complacent pardon into a blessing. If the dying are often the most egotistic and self-complacent of all human creatures, and are apt to make of their very condition a fresh title to lord it for the moment over the living--as if none had ever died before, and none would die after them, and therefore the world must pay special attention and homage to them--if this is so, Minola did not then know it or think about it. The one thing on earth which Mr. Sheppard most loved to see was woman amenable to authority. He longed more passionately than ever to make Minola his wife. "There is something else on which I should like to have your permission to speak," he said; and his thin lips grew a little tremulous. "But I could come another time, if you preferred." "I would rather you said now, Mr. Sheppard, whatever you wish to say to me." "It is only the old story. Have you reconsidered your determination--you remember that last day--in Keeton? I am still the same." "So am I, Mr. Sheppard." "But things have changed--many things; and you may want a home; and you may grow tired of this kind of life--and I shan't be a person to be ashamed of, Minola! I am going to be in Parliament, and you shall hear me speak--and I know I shall get on. I have great patience. I succeed in everything--I really do." She smiled sadly and shook her head.