Catherine King called as she had promised on the following afternoon. "How is she? Shall I be able to see her?" she asked anxiously, as soon as the doctor came into the room.
"Mary is very much better. Indeed there is very little the matter with her now," he replied. "But I wish to say a few words to you before we go upstairs. Mrs. King, I have had a long talk with Mary about you. My dear friend!—I hope you will allow me to call you that now—we have decided that you are to stay with us; you must live here with Mary. She insists on it. You know how she loves you—it will be cruel of you to refuse. It has been settled that you are not to leave us even this night. The weather is very bad, and you are too ill to be out in it. Indeed you must be looked after. A room has been got ready for you, and to-morrow you can give up your lodgings. No! No refusal! I am your doctor now, and my orders are peremptory. You will be happy yet and live long with us."
She shook her head and smiled. "I will not trouble you long. But oh, Dr. Duncan!" and she stooped and kissed his hand in the fervour of her gratitude, "I thank you from my heart for what you have done this day. Oh, generous man! I have not deserved this kindness. I have done much wrong to Mary and you, and yet you forgive me like this. Ah! if a dying woman's true gratitude be of any good, you indeed have it now."
Catherine followed the doctor upstairs. Mary was slightly hysterical at first with the excitement of the meeting. She put her arms round Catherine's neck and cried, "Oh, mother! dear mother! You too! you too! and I loved you so. But you have forgiven me now, and you will not hurt my baby, my poor little baby!"
Catherine wept. Her heart had been softened by her lonely misery of the last few months—she wept, and stooping she kissed Mary's forehead and said, "My darling, I will love your baby, even as I love you."
Mary soon entirely recovered her health. This was her last shock. The terror was no more, the shadow had disappeared for ever; and the knowledge that there was now no secret between her husband and herself, removed the last cloud from her mind. She went through life with him along a smoother way, a happy wife and mother.
But Catherine's health grew rapidly worse. Soon she was confined to her bed, peacefully, painlessly, fading away, and Mary nursed her.
Her last days were made even delicious to her by the love of her two friends. She was very happy in that she had saved Mary, happier than she had ever been before—even in the old time when she had been drunk with the glory of her visionary scheme. She had learned at last that highest, intensest of pleasures—self-sacrifice for those we love. No shadow came across the glory of those last bright days. She was so grateful, so full of love, so peacefully happy, and at last she died even as a saint might have died with Mary by her side.
The noble, erring soul had gone to find Divine mercy. Her last words were, as she turned her eyes to Mary with a wistful look, "Mary! I feel that I know nothing about it, it is all a mystery. But it may be that there is another world, the other side—pray for me, Mary! pray for me! I cannot pray for myself; for if there is another world I do so want to meet you again there, my darling! my darling! but it is all a mystery—all a mystery. Kiss me, Mary!"