Tiny maintained a haughty silence for a few minutes. This was the girl for whom she had been forsaken. She felt sure of it. How could it be otherwise? But the letter said that she was dying. Fin had told her of Pratt's assurances; and, as the mist cleared away, so melted the hauteur, for she could not look upon the soft, sweet face before her with anger; and if he loved her, should not she do the same? The two girls gazed in each other's eyes for a few moments, and then, with a smile, Netta held out one hand. "Thank you for coming," she said. "I have wanted to see you for months, and I was afraid I should not live long enough. Do you know why?" "No--I cannot tell," said Tiny, in a choking voice; for she, too, could see for herself the truth of what had been said. "I wanted to see the beautiful girl that he loves--her of whom he has so often talked--and to tell you that you have misjudged him, if you think as your sister thinks in the letter she sent." "Letter?" exclaimed Tiny. "Yes, this," said the girl, producing one from her bosom. "Oh, Miss Rea, how can you slight his noble love? If you only knew! You both misjudge him. Look at me, dear. I am here now; perhaps to-morrow, or the next day, I shall be gone. But I do not think I could have died without seeing you face to face, and telling you that he has been true, and noble, and faithful to you. You might not have believed me if I had been different; but now, ready to go away, you know mine are true words, when I tell you Richard Lloyd has been to me as a brother." "Oh, I believe, I believe!" sobbed Tiny, sinking on her knees beside the couch. "But it is too late--too late!" "No, no," whispered Netta, "it is not too late. Make him happy. Send to him to come to you. He is too proud and poor to come himself. But I know his story: how he lost all through being so honourable and good. Tiny--you see I know your name; why, he has described you to me so often that I should have known _you_--send for him, and bless him. You could not love such a one as he too well." "Too late!" sobbed Tiny. "It is too late." She started up, and turned as if to go; but only to push her hair back from her forehead, lean over Netta's couch and kiss her, as a pair of thin, weak arms closed round her neck. Then, tearing herself away, she hurried from the house with Lady Rea, who vainly questioned her as to the cause of her agitation. "I asked the woman, who is very ladylike, my dear, but she said her daughter would explain; so I waited till you came down; and now," said the little ruffled dame, "you do nothing but cry." "Don't ask me now, mamma, dear," sobbed Tiny, covering her face with her hands. "Another time I'll tell you all."