was
dead; and she was going to die very soon herself. Yes, she was; and
she knew Dr. Allen thought so, too.

She stopped, and closed her eyes to hide the rising tears. A secret of
so many years' growth could not be uprooted without some pain.

There was a moment's silence. Polly craned her neck to see into the
room, and murmured, "Oh, Annie Laurie! Annie Laurie!" in a melancholy
tone.

Elsie drew a deep breath. "How long ago is it since you first met him,
Arabella?" she whispered.

"Fifteen years, an' I never told a soul I was waitin' all this time.
Susan never said anything about him, and everybody thought he was dead."

"And this boy that he educated, Arabella--what about him? Didn't he
help when his friend needed it so badly?"

"No; he kind of forgot about it, I guess. Young folks is often like
that, you know. You see, he jist put him through high school an'
helped him some, at first, in college, an' learnin' doctorin' seems to
take an awful long time. But I guess the boy must 'a' forgot about
him, or he'd 'a' been able to come back before this. You won't ever
tell, Elsie, will you?"

"No, no, Arabella! Never!"

"Mebby I'm foolish, but I can't bear to think o' Susan knowin' I was
waitin' all this time, an' Bella would laugh, an' William, too. But I
told you, 'cause when I die I want you to have this dress to wear on
your wedding day. I intended to give it to you, anyway, jist as soon
as I found out I wasn't ever goin' to wear it."

"Oh, Arabella!" There was a choking lump in Elsie's throat. "You must
not talk like that! You must not! You don't know that he's dead. He
may be on the way home now, for all you know. No! no!" she added,
pressing the blue silk back into the owner's hands, "I won't take it!
I just won't! You just cheer up, and wait a little longer, dear, and
who knows but you may hear any day that he's coming?" She was growing
radiantly hopeful.

Miss Arabella looked up with hopeful eyes, but shook her head. "No,
it's no use, Elsie. It's awful good o' you, and I used to feel like
that, too; but I've waited too long. I guess I'm jist tired," she
added pathetically.

"Arabella," whispered the girl, with heightening color, "have
you--don't you ever pray about it?"

"I used to, but lately--ever since that dress gave way--I--I kind o'
gave way, too. An' it seemed wicked, anyhow--like prayin' for dead
folks, the way Catholics does, and I knew Mr. Scott would think it was