nature of Harold's feelings for her; so judge her not too harshly, my
prudish reader, if she at last did what Arthur would have called
'throwing herself at his head.'

'I can guess what you mean,' she said, after a long pause, during which
he did not speak. 'I have long suspected that you cared for me just as I
care for you, and have wondered you did not tell me so, but supposed
that you refrained because I was rich and you were poor; but what has
that to do with those who love each other? I am glad you have spoken;
and you have made me very happy; and even if we can never be more to
each other than we are now, because I may die, as I sometimes fear I
shall--'

'Oh, Maude, Maude, you are mistaken. I--,' came from Harold like a cry
of horror as he wrenched away his hand lying between hers, and to which
her slender fingers hung caressingly.

What could she mean? How had she understood him? he asked himself, while
great drops of sweat gathered upon his forehead and in the palms of his
hands, as like lightning the past came back to him, and he could see as
in a printed page that what he had thought mere friendship for himself
was a far different and deeper feeling, while he unwittingly had fanned
the flame; and was now reaping the result.

'What can I do?' he said aloud, unconsciously, while from the depths of
the chair on which Maude was leaning back so wearily came a plaintive
voice like that of a child:

'Ring the bell, and give me my handkerchief.'

He was at her side in a moment, bending over her, and looking anxiously
into the pallid face from which the bright color had faded, leaving it
gray, and pinched, and drawn, it seemed to him. Had he killed her by
blurting out so roughly that she was mistaken; and thus filling her with
mortification and shame? No, that could not be, for as he brought her
handkerchief and bent still closer to her, she whispered to him:

'I am not mistaken, Hally. I am going to die, but you have made the last
days of my life very, very happy.'

She thought he was referring to herself and her situation when he told
her she was mistaken, and with a smothered groan he was starting for the
camphor, as she bade him do, when the door opened, and Mrs. Tracy
herself appeared.

'What is it?' she asked, sharply; then, as she saw Maude's face she knew
what it was, and going swiftly to her, said to Harold:

'Why did you allow her to talk and get excited? What were you saying to
her?'

Instan