She sent a messenger for the doctor and lawyer, who came together. "Let her have just what she fancies; it won't make any difference," was the doctor's sentence; "she is running down like a clock. There is nothing to be done but to give her a little stimulant to keep her up as long as we can. But it is wonderful how clear her mind is. She seems as bright as ever." Miss Priscilla had a short private conference with Mr. Settson, who came out of the room wiping his glasses and his eyes. "She wants you, Calista," said he. "She understands the whole affair now, and says she is glad all will come to you. Shall I send any one out to you?" "Oh, if Mary would come! If she is not afraid, I should so like to have her." But Mary was afraid, and showed it so obviously that her father decided that she would be neither a help nor a comfort, and accepted Miss Meeks's offer instead. Mr. Fabian was disabled by one of his rare attacks of illness, and his wife could not leave him; but she heaped Miss Meeks with everything she thought could be a comfort to herself or Calista, remarking in her silvery, emphatic voice, that she was glad Calista had friends who would not desert her in the hour of trial. Poor Mary fled into her room to cry herself into a fit of sick headache. It was a terrible tumble, but a wholesome, and it was noticed that Mary's Christianity was hereafter much more charitable and less didactic in its character. When Calista came back to her aunt's bedside, she took both her hands and drew her down beside her. "Mr. Settson has told me all about the will," said she. "I did not hide it, Calista. I did not believe my father ever made it. But it is quite right. I was a wicked woman. I had Richard's letters, and never let my father see them. Poor Dick! He was such a pretty boy, with curly hair. 'Pity' he used to call me; but I had not much pity on him. But father need not have taught him—" She seemed to be wandering and, desirous to call her back, Calista said, gently— "But you are sorry now, Aunt Priscy. You wouldn't do so again." "Yes, I am sorry. I would take it back, but we can't take back the past. It won't come back. Calista, I was not good to you, but you won't turn me out of the house, will you? I was born here, and I should like to—You won't turn me out, will you?" she repeated, wistfully looking into Calista's face. "No, indeed, aunt! Don't think of such a thing!" said Calista. "But don't mind about business—not now. Don't you want to have Mr. Alger or Mr. Lee come to see you?" "No, no!" said Miss Priscy. "But you may get your Bible and read to me, if you like. Read in St. John. Your grandmother liked that." Glad of so much concession, Calista got her book and read on far into the night. The restlessness of death was on Miss Priscilla, but so long as Calista read, she was tolerably quiet, sometimes murmuring over words that struck her mind or fancy.