"I forgive you, Milly."
"God bless you! Ask him to give baby to some respectable people to keep, and never to come near it--do you hear me?--never to come near it. He is baby's father, but he must never come near it, or she will be bad like me. Promise me this. I have no one else to ask."
"I promise, Milly."
"God be kind to you!" She lay quiet for a little while, and then she whispered, "How dark it is! Is the moon shining, Alice?"
"Yes, Milly; it is at its full."
"Open the window, dear, and let it shine upon me. Thank you. What a dreadful day this has been, and how quiet the night is! I can see the moon--there is a ladder of light to it from my bed. There are figures moving about in the light--I see your shadow in it, Alice, with your dear eyes. Oh, God bless you! my dear, for being by my side. Kiss me again. Good-bye! Place my baby's hand to my lips. God bless you, baby, and make you good! Is that Grif? Good-bye, Grif!"
"Good-bye, Milly," said Grif, in a choking voice.
"And now, my dear, fold my hands once more. Forgive me, God!"
A rippling smile passed over Milly's face, and in that smile she died. The light from the silver moon might have kissed away her life, she yielded, it up so peacefully.
For half an hour no sound disturbed the silence. Then Alice, after covering the face of the dead girl, opened the letter. She read, and as she read, her eyes dilated, and with a shudder she sank into Grif's arms. But she recovered herself by a strong effort, and reading a few more lines, cried, in a voice of such anguish, that Grif's knees trembled and his face turned ashen white.