Then he went to the bell and touched it, and, having done so, strode out into the narrow hall, opened the front door and was gone; and when, a few minutes later, Aimée came running down to answer the strange summons, she found only the silent room, Dolly's white, piteous face upon the sofa-cushion, and the great package of those old, sweet, foolish letters upon the table. CHAPTER XIII ~ A DEAD LETTER. IT was all over,--all over at last. Dolly's first words had said this much when she opened her eyes, and found Aimée bending over her. “Has he gone?” she had asked. “Did he go away and leave me?” “Do you mean Grif?” said Aimée. She made a weak gesture of assent. “Yes,” Aimée answered. “He must have gone. I heard the bell ring, and found you lying here when I came to see what it meant.” “Then,” said Dolly, “all is over,--all is over at last.” And she turned her face upon the cushion and lay so still that she scarcely seemed to breathe. “Take another drink of water, Dolly,” said Aimée, keeping back her questions with her usual discretion. “You must, dear.” But Dolly did not stir. “I don't want any more,” she said. “I am not going to faint again. You have no need to be afraid. I don't easily faint, you know, and I should not have fainted just now only--that the day has been a very hard one for me, and somehow I lost strength all at once. I am not ill,--only worn out.” “You must be very much worn out, then,” said Aimée; “more worn out than I ever saw you before. You had better let me help you up-stairs to bed.” “I don't want to go to bed yet!” in a strange, choked voice, and the next moment Aimée saw her hands clench themselves and her whole frame begin to shake. “Shut the door and lock it,” she said, wildly. “I can't stop myself. Give me some sal volatile. I can't breathe.” And such a fit of suffocating sobbing came upon her that she writhed and battled for air. Aimée flung herself upon her knees by her side, shedding tears herself. “Oh, Dolly,” she pleaded, “Dolly, darling, don't. Try to help yourself against it. I know what the trouble is. He went away angry and disappointed, and it has frightened you. Oh, please don't, darling. He will come back to-morrow; he will, indeed. He always does, you know, and he will be so sorry.” “He has gone forever,” Dolly panted, when she could speak. “He will never come back. To-night has been different from any other time. No,” gasping and sobbing, “it is fate. Fate is against us,--it always was against us. I think God is against us; and oh, how can He be? He might pity us,--we tried so hard and loved each other so much. We did n't ask for anything but each other,--we did n't want anything but that we might be allowed to cling together all our lives and work and help each other. Oh, Grif, my darling,--oh, Grif, my dear, my dear!” And the sobs rising again and conquering her were such an agony that Aimée caught her in her arms.