a woman who has been what I was, and she can have no need of them.

All fear had vanished from my thoughts. I had no fear for myself, I
remembered, and none for baby. The only regret I felt was for Martin--he
loved me so; there had never been any other woman in the world for him.

After a moment I thanked the doctors and hoped I had not given them too
much trouble. Doctor Conrad seemed crushed into stupefaction and said
nothing; but the strange doctor tried to comfort me by saying there
would be no pain, and that my malady was of a kind that would probably
make no outward manifestation.

Being a woman to the end I was very glad of that, and then I asked him
if it would last long. He said No, not long, he feared, although
everything was in God's hands and nobody could say certainly.

I was saying I was glad of that too, when my quick ears caught a sound
of crying. It was Christian Ann, and Father Dan was hushing her. I knew
what was happening--the good souls were listening at the bottom of the
stairs.

My first impulse was to send nurse to say they were not to cry. Then I
had half a mind to laugh, so that they might hear me and know that what
I was going through was nothing. But finally I bethought me of Martin,
and asked that they might both be brought up, for I had something to
say to them.

After a moment they came into the room, Christian Ann in her simple pure
dress, and Father Dan in his shabby sack coat, both looking very
sorrowful, the sweet old children.

Then (my two dear friends standing together at the foot of the bed) I
told them what the doctor had said, and warned them that they were to
tell nobody else--nobody whatever, especially Martin.

"Leave _me_ to tell _him_," I said. "Do you faithfully promise me?"

I could see how difficult it was for them to keep back their tears, but
they gave me their word and that was all I wanted.

"My boy! My poor boy _veen!_ He's thinking there isn't another woman in
the world like her," said Christian Ann.

And then Father Dan said something about my mother extracting the same
promise concerning myself, when I was a child at school.

After that the Blackwater doctor stepped up to say good-bye.

"I leave you in good hands, but you must let me come to see you again
some day," he said, and then with a playful smile he added:

"They've got lots of angels up in heaven--we must try to keep some of
them on earth, you know."

That was on the fifth of July, old M