The woman did inquire, and the very sound of her voice made the poor victim on the bed shake till the counterpane moved like snow disturbed by the wind. Jessie was holding the pale hand, and, feeling it quiver, she clasped it closer, and said to Mrs. Dennison,-- "Madam, your voice troubles my mother; please to leave us alone." Mr. Lee looked from his daughter to the woman; but it was no time for anger--he only lifted one hand to deprecate further noise, and bent over his wife with such solemn tenderness in his eyes as I had never seen there before. "My wife, my poor wife!" he said, sheltering the frail form with his arm, as if that could keep death away. She heard him, and the tension on her delicate nerves relaxed. The letter, which had hitherto been clenched in one hand, fell away and rustled to the floor. Mrs. Dennison picked it up, folded it deliberately, and held it toward Mr. Lee. "This has just fallen from her hand," she said; "it may have some reference to this strange attack." Again that shiver ran through Mrs. Lee's form, and her face contracted with the pain, while fresh drops of crimson gathered on her lips. "Madam, your presence tortures her," said Jessie; "these attacks come and go with your voice." "My friend, my dear, sweet friend; will you not give me one look before I go?" Mrs. Dennison bent over the bed as she spoke, and, sure enough, Mrs. Lee opened her eyes wide, and turned them on the woman's face. Never shall I forget that look! Its wounded expression haunts me yet. Those great, mournful eyes dwelt on that face, which grew slowly pallid, for a full half-minute, and then turned away. Mrs. Dennison was awed; but, feeling our eyes upon her, she took strength, and, with a pathetic "Farewell!" on her lips, pressed them to those of Mrs. Lee. There was a faint struggle, a gasping cry broke from the bed, and when Mrs. Dennison lifted her face, a drop of fresh blood crimsoned her lips. She did not know it; but with the red blood burning there, retreated into Lottie's room, where she hovered over the scene as if afraid to leave it entirely. Mr. Lee forgot everything in keen anxiety for his wife. When her eyes turned sorrowfully upon him, he cried out,-- "Oh! speak to me, speak to me, my wife! Give some sign that I have not come too late!" The most wonderful expression I ever saw stole over that face; it came like moonlight on dark waters,--a gleam of hope breaking through the agonies of death. Her lips moved. He bent down and listened. "You have loved me?" There was no noise; but we knew that she was saying this by the movement of her lips. For an instant, Mr. Lee seemed stunned. The question struck him to the soul; then his noble head was uplifted, and, looking tenderly into those wistful eyes, he said, "I have always loved you, my wife. God is my witness, I have always loved you."