"Ah! did I not tell you? It was not curiosity. Listen, aunty mine. While you were away last winter, papa received a paper from St. Louis; he handed it to me, pointing to an announcement. But I will run get it. He told me to show it to you, and I forgot. I did not dream of all this."
From my scrap-book I brought the slip, and Aunt Edna read:
"Died.-Suddenly, of heart disease, on the morning of the 15th, Lilly, wife of Doctor Percy Graham, in the 34th year of her age."
Aunt Edna remained holding the paper, without speaking, for some minutes; then, handing it back to me, she said, softly, as if talking to her friend:
"Dear Lilly! Thank heaven, I gave to you the best I had to give, and caused you naught but happiness. God is merciful! Had he been taken, and you left, how could we have comforted you?" And then, turning to me, she said: "Nearly a year it is since Lilly went to heaven. 'Tis strange I have not heard of this."
"'Tis strange from him you have not heard," I thought; "and stranger still 'twill be if he comes not when the year is over. For surely he must know that you are free-" But I kept my thoughts, and soon after kissed aunty good-night.
One month passed, and the year was out. And somebody was in our parlor, making arrangements to carry away Aunt Edna. I knew it was he, when he met me at the hall door, and said:
"Edna-Miss Linden! can it be?"
"Yes and no, sir-both-Edna Linden; but, Doctor Graham, not your Edna. You will find her in the parlor," I answered, saucily, glad and sorry, both, at his coming.
Ah, she welcomed him with profound joy, I know. He knew all; papa had told him. And if he loved the beautiful girl, he then worshipped that noble woman.