"If you should see Inez, tell her to remember my gift at parting, and thank her, in my name, for her many, many kindnesses." She paused, as if gathering courage to say something more.
"And tell her, too, that ere many hours I shall be at rest. Tell her I have no fear, nay more, that I have great hope, and that heaven is opening for me. Let her prepare to join me, where there is no sorrow nor parting."
There was a silence, as if each were communing with their own hearts.
"You go to-morrow, Dr. Bryant? Then you will not stay to see me die? I am failing fast, and when you return, I shall have gone to that bourne whence no traveler comes back to tell the tale. Let me thank you now, for your unvarying kindness; many have been your services, and a brother's care has ever followed me. Thank you; I appreciate your kindness, and earnest and heartfelt is my prayer that you may be very happy and blest on earth; and when you, too, come to die, may your end be like mine—free from all fear, and may hope and joy attend your last moments!"
Her breathing grew short, and large drops stood on her pure beautiful brow.
He had bent his head upon his bosom while she spoke, but now he raised it, and, taking her hand, clasped it warmly.
"Mary, Mary, if you knew what torture you inflicted, you would spare me this!"
It was the first time he had called her Mary, and her pale lip quivered.
"Forgive me, if I cause you pain!"
Bending forward, he continued, in a tone of touching sadness—"I had determined, Mary, to keep my grief locked in my own heart, and never to let words of love pass my lips. But the thought of parting with you forever is more than I can bear. Oh! Mary, have you not seen for weeks and months how I have loved you? Long ago, when first we met, a deep, unutterable love stole into my heart. I fancied for a time that you returned it, till the evening we met at my sister's, and you spoke with such indifference of leaving me behind. I saw then I had flattered myself falsely; that you entertained none save friendly feelings toward me. Still, I thought in time you might learn to regard me with warmer sentiments. So I hoped on till the evening of our last ride, when your agitation led me to suppose you loved another. I saw you meet Mr. Stewart, and was confirmed in my supposition. I gave up all hope of ever winning your affection in return. Now I see my error in believing for a moment that you felt otherwise to him than as a brother, as the betrothed of your cousin. I know that you have never loved him, and pardon my error. When I sought you just now, it was to say good-by, and in absence and varied and exciting pursuits to shut out from my heart the memory of my hopes and fears. Mary, your words fill me with inexpressible anguish! Oh, you cannot know how blank and dreary earth will seem when you are gone! I shall have no hope, no incitement, no joy!"