"Don't trouble about it," she whispered; "I'm not sorry to die. You have made me so happy. I feel as if I may take those tender words from you now, Richard. You called me darling twice to-night. Kiss me once again." Tiny's name was on his lips as he bent over her, and raised the little frail form in his arms; and hers were wreathed around his neck as he pressed his lips to hers twice--lips which responded to the caress. As he laid her tenderly back upon her pillow, she retained one of his broad, nervous hands, pressed her lips to it once, and then placed it feebly beneath her cheek, lying with her eyes half-closed, and her voice coming in a faint whisper as she said-- "I don't think she would be angry if she knew all. Ah, mother darling, I did not know you had come back. Come here." For Mrs Lane was sitting in the corner of the room by the door, with her face buried in her hands. She came and sat at the foot of the couch, unable to restrain her sobs. "I could not help loving him, dear," she said, smiling; "he is so good and true. It was not the same love I have for you. Richard, you'll be rich again some day. You'll be kind to her?" "Rich or poor, on my soul I will!" he exclaimed. "She has worked so hard for me," said Netta, feebly. Then starting with a wildly anxious look upon her face, she uttered a strange, passionate cry as of one in intense mental agony. "My child--my poor child!" cried Mrs Lane, throwing herself on her knees by the couch. "Why--why did I not think of it before?" cried Netta, wildly. "I ought to have thought--Oh, it will be too late." "What is it--what can I do?" cried Mrs Lane. "Papa--papa--papa!" wailed the girl; "I must see papa." Mrs Lane sank in a heap with her head bowed down upon her knees. "I--I must see papa," wailed Netta again--"I did not think before--I have something to say--it only came just now. Oh, mother, you will fetch him before it is too late." Mrs Lane started up and gazed wildly at her guest. "Can I go? Can I do anything?" he exclaimed. "No, no, stay with me," wailed Netta; "he would not come for you. Mamma, you will go. Dear mother, bring him here." Without another word, Mrs Lane ran into the next room and hurried on her things, returning to kiss the anxious, flushed face gazing so wistfully at her. "You will not leave her?" she said, hoarsely. "No, he will not go," moaned Netta; "but be quick--be quick." Richard's heart beat fast, for, as he was left alone, Netta's eyes closed and a terrible pallor succeeded the flush. He was about to rise and summon Mrs Jenkles, but Netta divined his intention, and uttered a feeble protest. "You said you would not leave me. I am only tired. It is of no use."