Mrs. Flint safely withdrew to a window, with her back to the bed.
Arthur led his mother to the bedside, and placed her in a chair. Then he took her cold and trembling hand, and placed it in that of his father.
She thrilled with a passion of joy at the feeble pressure, and bent forward, pressing her quivering lips to his pale brow, whispering in a tempest of restrained emotion:
“Oh, Everard, I wronged you—but I never ceased to love you!”
And there was deep silence and rare happiness—even though the shadow of death hovered over the room. And presently she whispered, entreatingly:
“Oh, Everard, do not die and leave me now! I can not let you go again! I will nurse you and tend you so faithfully that surely Heaven will give you back to me! And some day, when I have somewhat atoned by penitence and devotion, perhaps you will let me be your wife again.”
“Ah, Paulina, if it might be now, for the doctor does not hold out any hope of life. But at least I should die happy, knowing you were mine again.”
“You shall have your wish!” cried Arthur, hastening from the room.
Then Everard Dawn called his sister to make friends with Paulina.
“I should like for you to love each other when I am gone,” he said gently.