"Help me to turn round, Susanne. I have not strength."
With some difficulty they turned her, for they were not so clever at it as the nurse. Adeline then lay looking at them, as she panted for breath. Susanne wiped the cold dew from her pale forehead, and some tears from her own face.
"Leave us alone, Susanne. I have something to say to Mademoiselle Carr."
"Stay in the next room, within call, Susanne," whispered Miss Carr to the servant. It may seem strange, but dearly as Mary Carr loved Adeline, she experienced an indescribable awe at being left alone with her. She did not stay to analyze the sensation, but it must have had its rise in that nameless terror which, in the mind of the young, attaches itself to the presence of the dead and dying.
"I am about to entrust you with a commission to him, Mary," she panted. "You will faithfully execute it?"
"Faithfully and truly."
And, stretching out her white and wasted hand, she held out the key of her writing-desk. "There is a secret spring in the desk, on the right, as you put in your hand," she continued; "press it."
With some awkwardness, Mary Carr did as she was desired, and several love-tokens were disclosed to view. Two or three trinkets of value, a few dried flowers, and some letters, the edges much worn.
"Throw the flowers in the fire," murmured Adeline, "and put all the rest in a parcel, and seal it up."
"How the notes are worn, Adeline!" exclaimed Mary. "One would think them twenty years old."