I never saw Mrs. Le Grande again alive. The following morning I made my confession to Mr. Winthrop, and got his consent to continue my visits to the sick room, at Rose Cottage, until recovery or death should take place. My one anxiety as I walked along the field and woodland that day, was lest my face might reveal to her keen vision the gladness that thrilled all my pulses. I did not wait to ring the bell but went directly to her rooms. The parlor door was closed; when I opened it, at the farther end of the room I was startled to see a white-robed form lying on one of the sofas.

I hesitated with sudden fear, but finally summoning all my resolution I crossed the room and stood beside the clay-cold form of Mrs. Le Grande. The nurse who was in the adjoining room came to my side and after a few seconds' silence she said, gently:

"I never felt so lonesome with any dying person as with her last night."

"Did she know she was dying?"

"Yes, we told her. It seemed dreadful to let her go before her Maker without a prayer for mercy, but her thoughts, for all we told her, were more about this world than the next. She made her will as soon as the doctor came. We sent for him in haste, and then she told us what to put on her when we prepared her for the coffin. That's the gown she was to have been married in. She said: 'Mr. Winthrop shall see his bride in her wedding dress, at last.'"

I looked at the rich white satin, with its exquisite trimming of lace, and the fresh gathered roses instead of orange blossoms.

"Did she say nothing about where her soul was going?" I asked, yet dreading a reply.

"After he'd got the will drawn, the doctor asked her if her business for another world was satisfactorily arranged; but she said the next world would have to wait its turn after she'd got there; she had no strength left to make any more preparations."

I turned away, too sick at heart to listen longer, but the nurse followed me with a message from the dying woman.

"It was her special request that you and Mr. Winthrop should come to her funeral, and afterward be present at the reading of the will. I am not at liberty to explain, but I think you will regret it if you do not come. She said that was to be the sign of reconciliation between her and Mr. Winthrop."

"I will deliver the message, and, if possible, prevail on him to come," I promised, and then hastily left the house. When I reached home I went directly to the library where I found Mr. Winthrop. He looked surprised to see me back so soon, and then, noticing traces of tears on my face, said:

"What is wrong, little one?"

"Mrs. Le Grande died sometime during the night. The nurse told me she showed no anxiety respecting her future state."

He was silent. At last I said: "You have forgiven her, Mr. Winthrop?"

"Forgiven her! Yes, Medoline; and if she had lived, I could never have repaid her for the lesson she taught me, and the favor she conferred on me by going away so abruptly."

"Then you will grant her last request that we should both attend her funeral, and the reading of her will. I have an impression she has left each of us some keepsake, as a token of her repentance."

"Don't you think, little one, that would be a mercenary motive to take us there?"

"But I want you to grant her dying request," I murmured, already ashamed of my argument.

"We will both go, assuredly; and in the meantime I shall see that preparations for her funeral are suitably arranged."

"You will look upon her dead face; she left directions as to how she should be robed for the grave. She said you should see your bride in her wedding dress at last."

"I expect, before many weeks, to see my own precious bride. I shall be indifferent as to her dress. It will be herself I shall look at," he said with a caress that for the time made me forget Mrs. Le Grande.

We went to the funeral, to which went also a good part of the townsfolk; for curiosity was on tip-toe. Thomas was greatly mystified when Mr. Winthrop, leaving Mrs. Flaxman at Oaklands, bade him drive us back to Linden Lane. Dr. Hill was there, and Mrs. Le Grande's lawyer from New York, and Dr. Townshend, who had drawn her will, with the nurse and landlady, who were her witnesses. Presently the lawyer put on his spectacles, and broke the seal, and then in a hard, dry voice began to read the will. I listened with languid interest until presently Mr. Winthrop's name was mentioned. I looked at him with keen surprise. Could it be possible Mrs. Le Grande had willed him the bulk of her fortune? His face was pale, I could see no trace of a satisfaction one might naturally expect on the face of another at such unexpected accession of wealth; rather he looked grieved and shocked. Before I had time to recover myself my own name was read off in the even, unimpassioned tones of the lawyer. She left me her jewelry, pictures, and other valuables. It seemed like one of the fairy tales of my childhood. There was something pathetic, too, in the wording of her will: "I hope they will adorn a happier woman than I have been," as if that, too, were a legacy she bequeathed me.

The formality of reading the will ended, Mr. Winthrop asked for an immediate and private interview with the lawyer. Afterward I learned it was to see if some informality could not be discovered, rendering the will illegal, but this was impossible. He took the money as a sacred trust, expending the interest year by year on religious and benevolent objects. Into many a heathen household has it already carried the blessed light of the gospel—to many a burdened heart has it come to lighten the load of poverty and care.

The story of one memorable year of my life is told. It was the prelude to many a happier year.