was dying?"

"Yes, we told her. It seemed dreadful to let her go before her Maker
without a prayer for mercy, but her thoughts, for all we told her, were
more about this world than the next. She made her will as soon as the
doctor came. We sent for him in haste, and then she told us what to put
on her when we prepared her for the coffin. That's the gown she was to
have been married in. She said: 'Mr. Winthrop shall see his bride in her
wedding dress, at last.'"

I looked at the rich white satin, with its exquisite trimming of lace,
and the fresh gathered roses instead of orange blossoms.

"Did she say nothing about where her soul was going?" I asked, yet
dreading a reply.

"After he'd got the will drawn, the doctor asked her if her business for
another world was satisfactorily arranged; but she said the next world
would have to wait its turn after she'd got there; she had no strength
left to make any more preparations."

I turned away, too sick at heart to listen longer, but the nurse followed
me with a message from the dying woman.

"It was her special request that you and Mr. Winthrop should come to her
funeral, and afterward be present at the reading of the will. I am not at
liberty to explain, but I think you will regret it if you do not come.
She said that was to be the sign of reconciliation between her and Mr.
Winthrop."

"I will deliver the message, and, if possible, prevail on him to come,"
I promised, and then hastily left the house. When I reached home I went
directly to the library where I found Mr. Winthrop. He looked surprised
to see me back so soon, and then, noticing traces of tears on my face,
said:

"What is wrong, little one?"

"Mrs. Le Grande died sometime during the night. The nurse told me she
showed no anxiety respecting her future state."

He was silent. At last I said: "You have forgiven her, Mr. Winthrop?"

"Forgiven her! Yes, Medoline; and if she had lived, I could never have
repaid her for the lesson she taught me, and the favor she conferred on
me by going away so abruptly."

"Then you will grant her last request that we should both attend her
funeral, and the reading of her will. I have an impression she has left
each of us some keepsake, as a token of her repentance."

"Don't you think, little one, that would be a mercenary motive to take us
there?"

"But I want you to grant her dying request," I murmured, already ashamed
of my argument.

"We will both go, assuredly; an