d simply; "I am here as a
messenger, and as a messenger only. Nothing but the prayers of a dying
woman would have induced me to stand beneath your roof!"

"'"Your presence certainly needs some explanation," I answered coldly.
"Give me the letter!"

"'He handed it over, and I took it to the lamplight. The handwriting
seemed unfamiliar to me; but when I glanced at the last page, I saw
that it was signed "Irene." I read it through hastily.

"CRUTA.

"MARTIN:--

"I left you meaning never to speak or write your name
again, but fate has been too strong for me. When you see my
handwriting, you may fear that I want to burden you once more
with my presence, which has grown so wearisome to you! You
need not! Soon there will be nothing left of me but a memory;
even that I know will not survive long. For I am dying. Life
is only a matter of days and hours with me now. For me, only
a few more suns will rise and set. I am dying, else I had not
taken up my pen to write to you.

"Martin, one's last hours are a time for plain speaking. I
have never suffered one word of reproach to pass my lips, but
you have wronged me deeply! You have turned what should have
been the sweetness of my life into bitterness and gall. I do
not remind you of this to heap idle reproaches on your head;
I remind you of it simply because on my deathbed I am going
to ask you what in the past I scorned to do. I am going to ask
you to marry me.

"I could not hope to make you understand all that I have
suffered during these last few months of my illness. I would
not if I could. It is not worth while! My father, although
he knows that I am dying, will scarcely speak to me. He has
forgotten that I am his daughter, save when he laments it.
He sits alone day by day, brooding upon the dishonour of his
race. The priest, who prays for me, speaks words of doubtful
comfort, as though, after all, he doubted whether salvation
were possible for me. The horror of it all has entered into my
soul! The sin of the past is ever before my eyes,--black and
threatening,--and a great desolation reigns in my heart.

"And from it all I turn to you, Martin, to save me! You can do
it! You only! You lose nothing! You risk nothing! and you will
throw some faint light of consolation upon this, my dreary
passage