"But it is all past now," said Netta, eagerly. "I know--I can see plainly enough. You knew better how ill I was than I did, and pitied and were very sorry for me; and it seemed so sweet to me that--that I could not help watching for you--feeling glad when you came. But that's all past now, and you said we could be friends." "Indeed, yes," he said, gazing into the great, brilliant eyes; but in a sad, dreamy way, for he could read but too plainly the coming end. "And you forgive me--quite forgive me?" she murmured. "My poor child, I have nothing to forgive," he said, leaning over and kissing her forehead. "Thank you," she murmured, closing her eyes; and she lay silent for a few moments. Then, brightening, she said, "Now tell me again about her." He remained silent, and she repeated her request--almost impatiently. "Tell me her name." He looked at her wonderingly for a few moments, before he answered, softly-- "Valentina." "Valentina," said Netta, smiling. "Yes, a pretty name--Valentina. I shall love it as I love her." "You love her?" "Yes, though I have never seen her. Did you not tell me that she loved you? You think me strange," she continued, smiling in his face, "but I am not. Why, if you could have loved me, I could not have stayed, and you would have been unhappy. It is for the best, and I shall know that you are content." "Netta," said Richard, hoarsely, "you must not talk like this." "Why not?" she said, wonderingly. "All the trouble seems past to me. Now I know you feel for me--I believe you like me. Everybody seems kind to me now, and that foolish little dream has quite passed away. Come, tell me about her. I should like to know her. Would she come to see me--if she knew that I was dying?" "Yes, I feel sure she would, if she knew all," said Richard, sadly. "She is everything that is gentle and good, and would have loved you dearly, Netta. You may meet yet." "I should like to see her," said the girl, enthusiastically, "that I might tell her how noble and good you are. There, you see how I make an idol of my brother Richard." He started, and looked hard at her. "Yes," she said, "brother Richard--you were behaving like a dear brother to me, only I could not understand. I never had a brother, but you will be one to me still. You will not stay away, Richard, even if I love you, for it is a chastened love now--one that I need not feel ashamed to own. You'll not stay away, but come and sit with me, and read to me, as you did before?" He shook his head sadly. "Yes--yes, you will come," she cried, putting her hands together. "I shall have something to live for then--a little longer--and we can sit and talk of her--of Valentina. If you stay away--I--I--shall--die."