"Oh, my dear, don't talk about dying!" said Mrs. Van Horn, in a soothing tone. "I am sure you have no need to entertain such gloomy thoughts."
"They are not gloomy thoughts," said Agnes. "I thank Heaven I am ready to be gone. But do not interrupt me. You have seen fit to come unasked into my sick-room, and you must submit to hear the truth for once. Celia Van Horn, you and your husband have been the ruin of me and mine. I say it in all soberness. You have ruined my husband, body and soul; and it is not your fault nor your husband's if you have not done as much to me.
"I was weak and silly enough when you found me; but I was beginning to learn better. You took advantage of my weakness, prejudiced me by your lies against my best friends, alienated my heart from my duties, and made me your instrument in your vile schemes for living on the sins of others. That I have been a thousand times worse is no thanks to you: you did what you could to bring it about.
"You are a wicked woman; and, unless you repent, you have nothing but eternal woe before you. It is not too late; but it soon will be. I have tried hard to forgive you and to pray for you, and I trust I have done so; but, if you have any thing of the woman left about you, you will go away, and trouble my dying hours no more."
"Poor child! You don't know what you are saying!" interrupted Mrs. Van Horn, soothingly. "I would not talk in that way. Your mind is wandering a little, my dear!—That is all. Now, positively, I shall take off my bonnet and stay a while. I am sure you need some one to cheer you up and drive these gloomy thoughts out of your head."
"Celia! Celia! What are you made of?" said Agnes. "How dare you come here and talk to me in this way? You know that I speak the truth. For Heaven's sake, leave the house and let me alone. My hours are numbered. Let me die in peace; and remember that your own time is coming,—you know not how soon. My eyes are opened now to see things as they are; and I tell you that heaven and hell are awful realities. Your feet are standing on slippery places," she stopped, exhausted, and looked imploringly at the doctor, who made one step forward and laid his hand on the intruder's arm.
"Go!" said he, briefly and sternly. "Go quickly, or I shall find means to make you. I will not suffer any patient of mine to be disturbed in this way. Go; and repent, if haply the mercy of God may be extended even to you; but beware how you enter this house again."
"I am going," said Mrs. Van Horn, meekly. "I came here in the spirit of Christian charity, to—"
"Never mind how you came," interrupted the doctor, sharply. "I suppose you came to see what you could pick up, like other vultures under the same circumstances. What I want of you is to leave; and I propose to see you out of the house myself;" which was forthwith done.
Burning with rage, she went to her husband to complain of the way in which she had been treated.