your fortune to ashes before your eyes! You can't forgive
that,--I won't believe it! Don't you hate me, dying as I am?"

Myrtle was used to maintaining a perfect calmness of voice and
countenance, and she held her feelings firmly down. "I have nothing to
forgive you, Mr. Bradshaw. You may have meant to do me wrong, but
Providence raised up a protector for me. The paper you burned was not
the original,--it was a copy substituted for it--"

"And did the old man outwit me after all?" he cried out, rising suddenly
in bed, and clasping his hands behind his head to give him a few more
gasps of breath. "I knew he was cunning, but I thought I was his match.
It must have been Byles Gridley,--nobody else. And so the old man beat
me after all, and saved you from ruin! Thank God that it came out so!
Thank God! I can die now. Give me your hand, Myrtle."

She took his hand, and held it until it gently loosed its hold, and he
ceased to breathe. Myrtle's creed was a simple one, with more of trust
and love in it than of systematized articles of belief. She cherished
the fond hope that these last words of one who had erred so miserably
were a token of some blessed change which the influences of the better
world might carry onward until he should have outgrown the sins and the
weaknesses of his earthly career.

Soon after this she rejoined her husband in the camp. From time to time
they received stray copies of the "Banner and Oracle," which, to Myrtle
especially, were full of interest, even to the last advertisement. A few
paragraphs may be reproduced here which relate to persons who have
figured in this narrative.

"TEMPLE OF HYMEN.

"Married, on the 6th instant, Fordyce Hurlbut, M. D., to Olive, only
daughter of the Rev. Ambrose Eveleth. The editor of this paper returns
his acknowledgments for a bountiful slice of the wedding-cake. May their
shadows never be less!"

Not many weeks after this appeared the following:

"Died in this place, on the 28th instant, the venerable Lemuel Hurlbut,
M. D., at the great age of XCVI years.

"'With the ancient is wisdom, and in length of days understanding.'"

Myrtle recalled his kind care of her in her illness, and paid the tribute
of a sigh to his memory,--there was nothing in a death like his to call
for any aching regret.

The usual routine of small occurrences was duly recorded in the village
paper for some weeks longer, when she was startled and s