“No,” she answered, with a curious lack of response in manner and tone; “I have been awake some time. I was thinking.” “Why didn’t you send Mrs. Brown for me? I was in my room passing the time till you woke up.” “I was thinking and I wanted to finish. I have been thinking a long time, days and weeks.” Mariposa thought her mind was wandering, and sitting down on a chair by the bedside, took her hand and pressed it gently without speaking. Her mother lay in the same attitude, her profile toward her, her eyes looking vacantly at the screen. Suddenly she said: “You know my old desk, the little rose-wood one Dan gave me? Take my keys and open it, and in the bottom you’ll see two envelopes, with no writing. One looks dirty and old. Bring them to me here.” Mariposa rose wondering, and looking anxiously at her mother. The elder woman saw the look, and said weakly and almost peevishly: “Go; be quick. I am not strong enough to talk long. The keys are in the work-box.” The girl obeyed as quickly as possible. The desk was a small one resting on the center-table. It had been a present of her father’s to her mother, and she remembered it from her earliest childhood in a prominent position in her mother’s room. She opened it, and in a few moments, under old letters, memoranda and souvenirs, found the two envelopes. Carrying them to the bed she gave them to her mother. Lucy took them with an unsteady hand, and for a moment lay staring at her daughter and not moving. Then she said: “Put the pillows under my head. It’s easier to breathe when I’m higher,” and as Mariposa arranged them, she added, in a lower voice: “And tell Mrs. Brown to go; I want to be alone with you.” Mariposa looked out beyond the screen, and seeing the nurse still reading the paper, told her to go to the kitchen and get her dinner. The woman rose with alacrity, and asking Mariposa to call her if the invalid showed signs of fatigue, or any change, left the room. The girl turned back to the bedside and took the chair. Lucy had taken from the dirty envelope a worn and faded paper, which she slowly unfolded. As she did so, she looked at her daughter with sunken eyes and said: “These are my marriage certificates.” Mariposa, again thinking that her mind was wandering, tried to smile, and answered gently: “Your marriage certificate, dear. You were only married once.” “I was married twice,” said Lucy, and handed the girl the two papers.