ad gone. Mary Ann
bent down to catch the husky whisper. "The silk--what is it for?"

"You're a little stronger to-day, aren't you, Ma? I've a secret I
meant to keep till you were well; but there! Wait till I get back and
I'll tell you."

Mrs. Colquhoun let her eyelids close and forgot all about it. When she
opened them again, Mary Ann stood before her arrayed in the velvet
dress. The radiant vision seemed part of the train of visions that had
been passing before her closed eyes; but this stayed, and the smiling
creases of the cheeks were substantial and firm.

Then Mary Ann fell on her knees beside the bed and made a crimson
frame of her arms for the nightcapped head on the pillow.

"I'm not a bit of good at keeping a secret, Ma. Jane and Selina and me
have just finished it, but you weren't to know anything about it till
you got home. It was to be a surprise. And there's new covering on the
parlor furniture, a handsome flower pattern, all fawn and crimson,
like our dresses, and we're going to have a home-coming party. I don't
want to be impatient, but I _wish_ you'd hurry up and get well."

Mrs. Colquhoun was gazing into her daughter's eyes.

"Do you really think I'm going to get well, Mary Ann?" she asked, and
the wistfulness of old desire revived was in the feeble voice.

"Of course you're going to get well, dearie. Why shouldn't you?"

"It seemed kind of settled I wasn't--and it's so upsetting to stay
when you're expected to go. I didn't care much."

She put up her hand weakly and stroked the velvet.

"But now--if you think so--perhaps----"

At his next visit Dr. Corbett said, "Your mother's caught her grip
again, Miss Mary Ann," and Dr. Black added heartily, "And if you'll
only tell us _how_ you did it, Miss Mary Ann, you'll be putting
dollars in our pockets."

But the cunning of love, with all its turnings and twistings, is only
half-conscious--the rest is instinct.

"I don't know that there's anything to tell, doctor," Mary Ann said
slowly, wiping away a tear. "Only you might just keep a watch out and
see that none of your patients are being hurried out of the world by
the preparations for their own mourning. That's what was happening to
Ma."

LAST YEARS WITH HENRY IRVING

BY ELLEN TERRY

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS

_Copyright, 1908, by Ellen Terry (Mrs. Carew)_

Perhaps Henry Irving and I might have gone on with Shakespeare to the
end of the chapter if he had not been in such a hu