is world, hovering on the brink of
the next. But you _were_ my husband, Archibald; and, the last few days,
I have longed for your forgiveness with a fevered longing. Oh! that
the past could be blotted out! That I could wake up and find it but a
hideous dream; that I were here as in old days, in health and happiness,
your ever loving wife. Do you wish it, that the dark past had never had
place?"

She put the question in a sharp, eager tone, gazing up to him with an
anxious gaze, as though the answer must be one of life or death.

"For your sake I wish it." Calm enough were the words spoken; and her
eyes fell again, and a deep sigh came forth.

"I am going to William. But Lucy and Archibald will be left. Oh, do you
never be unkind to them! I pray you, visit not their mother's sin upon
their heads! Do not in your love for your later children, lose your love
for them!"

"Have you seen anything in my conduct that could give rise to fears of
this?" he returned, reproach mingled in his sad tone. "The children are
dear to me, as you once were."

"As I once was. Aye, and as I might have been now."

"Indeed you might," he answered, with emotion. "The fault was not mine."

"Archibald, I am on the very threshold of the next world. Will you not
bless me--will you not say a word of love to me before I pass it! Let
what I am, I say, be blotted for the moment from your memory; think of
me, if you can, as the innocent, timid child whom you made your wife.
Only a word of love. My heart is breaking for it."

He leaned over her, he pushed aside the hair from her brow with his
gentle hand, his tears dropping on her face. "You nearly broke mine,
when you left me, Isabel," he whispered.

"May God bless you, and take you to His rest in Heaven! May He so deal
with me, as I now fully and freely forgive you."

What was he about to do? Lower and lower bent his head, until his breath
nearly mingled with hers. To kiss her? He best knew. But, suddenly, his
face grew red with a scarlet flush, and he lifted it again. Did the form
of one, then in a felon's cell at Lynneborough, thrust itself before
him, or that of his absent and unconscious wife?

"To His rest in Heaven," she murmured, in the hollow tones of the
departing. "Yes, yes I know that God had forgiven me. Oh, what a
struggle it has been! Nothing but bad feelings, rebellion, and sorrow,
and repining, for a long while after I came back here, but Jesus prayed
for me, and helped me, a