forward. She could not see
who it was, but supposing it was Lindy, she cried out, "Oh, Lindy, I'm
so glad you've come!"

Mrs. Putnam had fallen back exhausted upon her pillow; when she heard
the name Lindy she tried to rise again, but could not. But her
indomitable spirit still survived.

"So you've come back, have you?" she shrieked. "Yer couldn't let me die
in peace. You want to hear more, do you? Well, I'll tell you the truth.
I know who your parents are, but I destroyed the letter; it's burned.
That's what I had the fire built for this mornin'. You robbed me of my
son and I've got even with yer." The old woman pointed her finger at
poor Samanthy, who stood petrified in the doorway, and shrieked again,
"Go!" and she pointed her withered finger toward the door, "and hunt for
your parents."

The astonished Samanthy finally plucked up courage to close the door;
she ran to Lindy's room and pounded upon the door until Lindy was forced
to admit her; then the frightened girl told Lindy what she had heard,
and again the worse than orphan threw herself upon her bed and prayed
that she, too, might die.

Alice did not swoon, but she sank upon the floor, overcome by the horror
of the scene. No sound came from the bed. Was she dead? Alice groped her
way back to the chair in which she had previously sat; she leaned over
and listened. Mrs. Putnam was breathing still--faint, short breaths.
Alice took one of her hands in hers and prayed for her. Then she prayed
for the unhappy girl. Then she thought of the letter and the promise she
had made. Should she keep her promises to the dying woman, and thus be a
party to the wronging of this poor girl?

"Mrs. Putnam! Mrs. Putnam!! Aunt Heppy!!!" she cried; "take back your
fortune, I do not want it; only release me from my oath. Oh, that I
could send for that letter and put it back into her hands before she
dies! If Mr. Sawyer were only here; but I do not know where to find
him."

For hours, it seemed ages to Alice, she remained by the bedside of the
dying woman, seeing nothing, but listening intently, and hoping that she
would revive, hear her words, and release her from that horrid oath.

Suddenly, Alice started; the poor old wrinkled, wasted hand that she
held in hers, was cold--so cold--she leaned over and put her ear above
the old woman's lips. There was no sound of breathing. She pulled down
the bed-clothes and placed her hand upon her heart. It was still. Mrs.
Putnam had gone