"
cried Helen, bathing her forehead with camphor, and holding a glass of
water to her lips.

But the unnatural strength which opium gives, sustained her, and she
continued her narrative.

"This lady, when young, had loved and been betrothed to my brother, and
then forsook him for a wealthier man. It was that which ruined him, and
I never knew it. He had one of those still natures, where the waters of
sorrow lie deep as a well. They never overflow. She told me that she
never had had one happy moment from the time she married, and that her
conscience gnawed her for her broken faith. Her husband died, and left
her a rich widow, without a child to leave her property to. After a
while she fell sick of a long and lingering disease, for which there is
no cure. Then she thought if she could leave her money to my brother, or
he being dead, to some of his kin, she could die with more comfort. So,
she put the advertisement in the paper, which you all saw. I didn't want
the money, and wanted to come away without it, but she sent for a
lawyer, and had it all fastened upon me by deeds and writings, whether I
was willing or not. She didn't live but a few days after I got there.
The lawyer was very kind, and assisted me in my plans, though he
thought them very odd. There is no need of wasting my breath in telling
how I had the money changed into gold, and the wheel fixed in the way
you see it, after a fashion of my own. I would not have touched one cent
of it, had it not been for you, and next to you, that poor boy, Louis. I
didn't want any one to know it, and be dinning in my ears about money
from morning to night. I had no use for it myself, for habits don't
change when the winter of life is begun. There is no use for it in the
dark grave to which I am hastening. There is no use for it near the
great white throne of God, where I shall shortly stand. When I am dead
and gone, Helen, take that wheel home, and give it a place wherever you
are, for old Miss Thusa's sake. I really think--I'm a strange, foolish
old woman--but I really think I should like to have its likeness painted
on my coffin lid. A kind of coat-of-arms, you know, child."

Miss Thusa did not relate all this without pausing many times for
breath, and when she concluded she closed her eyes, exhausted by the
effort she had made. In a short time she again slept, and Helen sat
pondering in mute amazement over the disclosure made by one whom she had
imagined so very indigen