Iris shuddered, and yet was thankful because Aunt Peace could call her delirium "dreams." "Lately," continued Aunt Peace, "I have been afraid that I am not going to get well." "Don't!" cried Iris, sharply, turning her face away. "Dearie, dearie," said the other, caressingly, "be my brave girl, and let me talk to you. When the dreams come back, I shall not know you, but now I do. I am stronger to-day, and we are alone, are we not? Where are the others?" "The Doctor has gone to see someone who is very ill. Lynn has taken Mrs. Irving out for a walk." "I am glad," said Aunt Peace, tenderly. "Margaret has been very good to me. You have all been good to me." Iris stroked the flushed face softly with her cool hand. In her eyes were love and longing, and a foreshadowed loneliness. "Dearie," Aunt Peace continued, "listen while I have the strength to speak. All the papers are in a tin box, in the trunk in the attic. There you will find everything that is known of your father and mother. I do not anticipate any need of the information, but it is well that you should know where to find it. "I have left the house to Margaret," she went on, with difficulty, "for it was rightfully hers, and after her it goes to Lynn, but there is a distinct understanding that it shall be your home while you live, if you choose to claim it. Margaret has promised me to keep you with her. When Lynn marries, as some day he will, you will be left alone. You and Margaret can make a home together." The girl's face was hidden in her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs. "Don't, dearie," pleaded Aunt Peace, gently; "be my brave girl. Look up at me and smile. Don't, dearie--please don't! "I have left you enough to make you comfortable," she went on, after a little, "but not enough to be a care to you, nor to make you the prey of fortune hunters. It is, I think, securely invested, and you will have the income while you live. Some few keepsakes are yours, also--they are written down in"--here she hesitated--"in a paper Doctor Brinkerhoff has. He has been very good to us, dearie. He is almost your foster-father, for he was with me when I found you. He is a gentleman," she said, with something of her old spirit, "though he has no social position." "Social position is not much, Aunt Peace, beside the things that really count, do you think it is?" "I hardly know, dearie, but I have changed my mind about a great many things since I have lain here. I was never ill before--in all my seventy-five years, I have never been ill more than a day at a time, and it seems very hard." "It is hard, Aunt Peace, but we hope you will soon be well."