"He died like a saint, Georgia; he expired like a child falling asleep in his mother's arms, with a smile on his lips; death had no terror for him."
"Were you with him, Richmond?"
"Yes—thank God! Oh, Georgia, I had hardened my heart against him, and yet when I would pass him on the street—I did often pass him, Georgia—every feeling in my heart would be stirred, and no words can tell how I would yearn for him, my own, my only brother. I saw he was dying day by day, and yet pride—that curse, that bane that has dogged me like an evil spirit from childhood up—would not let me step over the barrier I myself had raised, and sue for forgiveness. At last came the news that he was sick unto death, and then I could hold out no longer. I went, Georgia—went in time to hear him forgive me, and to see him die. Oh, Georgia, I shall never forget it—never! Oh, Charley, my gay, thoughtless, light-hearted brother! to think you should be lying in that far-off church-yard, cold and dead."
"Grieve not, my husband," said Georgia, earnestly, as she laid her hand on his, "but look forward to a happy meeting in heaven. And now of others—your mother, Richmond?"
"Is dead, too. Oh, Georgia, she wronged you. Can you ever forgive her?"
"Yes, as freely and fully as I hope to be forgiven. May she rest in peace! And your cousin, Richmond."
She smiled slightly, and Richmond met her bright glance with a sort of honest shame.
"I feel like going down on my knees to you, Georgia, when that name is mentioned. She is well—or was when I saw her last—and safely married."
"Indeed! To whom, pray?"
Richmond laughed.