He sank back exhausted on his pillow.
“Did it-did she speak?” he gasped, as he revived.
“Yes. She said, 'Tell Milan I forgive him!'”
“Berthold, Laura, quick! O come,—my breath is go-. I—am—dy—.”
He, too, was gone; gone before his wife could be summoned; gone to meet one he had so greatly wronged, perhaps to learn of her beautiful truths, which her sad life experience had taught her; and perchance to woo her soul, this time with truth and love.
Berthold kept the miniature, and when, after a few months, the club met again, confirmed the truth of the story he had startled them with that night. He could never account for the lowly cot, and the old wrinkled woman, but he remembered his grandfather's dying words, and never wooed where he knew he could not give his heart and soul; nor was his vision ever again unfolded, but one of heaven's choicest, purest women was given him to love, and in her high and spiritual life, his soul grew to sense that which by sight he could not obtain.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Three years had swept by, with their lights and shadows, bringing no change to the house of Mr. Wyman, save the daily unfolding of Dawn's character, and the deepening happiness of all.