words that escaped her in this condition appear to have related
mainly to an absent person whom she spoke of by the name of
'George.' Her one anxiety, I am told, was to see 'George' again
before she died.

"Hearing this, it struck me as barely possible that the portrait
in the locket might be the portrait of the absent person. I sent
her nurse out of the room, and took her hand in mine. Trusting
partly to her own admirable courage and strength of mind, and
partly to the confidence which I knew she placed in me as an old
friend and adviser, I adverted to the words which had fallen from
her in the feverish state. And then I said, 'You know that any
secret of yours is safe in my keeping. Tell me, do you expect to
receive any little keepsake or memorial from 'George'?

"It was a risk to run. The black veil which she always wears was
over her face. I had nothing to tell me of the effect which I was
producing on her, except the changing temperature, or the partial
movement, of her hand, as it lay in mine, just under the silk
coverlet of the bed.

"She said nothing at first. Her hand turned suddenly from cold to
hot, and closed with a quick pressure on mine. Her breathing
became oppressed. When she spoke, it was with difficulty. She
told me nothing; she only put a question:

" 'Is he here?' she asked.

"I said, 'Nobody is here but myself.'

" 'Is there a letter?'

"I said 'No.'

"She was silent for a while. Her hand turned cold; the grasp of
her fingers loosened. She spoke again: 'Be quick, doctor!
Whatever it is, give it to me, before I die.'

"I risked the experiment; I opened the locket, and put it into
her hand.

"So far as I could discover, she refrained from looking at it at
first. She said, 'Turn me in the bed, with my face to the wall.'
I obeyed her. With her back turned toward me she lifted her veil;
and then (as I suppose) she looked at the portrait. A long, low
cry--not of sorrow or pain: a cry of rapture and delight--burst
from her. I heard her kiss the portrait. Accustomed as I am in my
profession to piteous sights and sounds, I never remember so
completely losing my self-control as I lost it at that moment. I
was obliged to turn away to the window.

"Hardly a minute can have passed before I was back again at the
bedside. In that brief interval she had changed. Her voice had
sunk again; it was so weak that I could only hear what she said
by leaning over her and placing my ear close to her lips.

" 'Put it round my neck,' she whispered.

"I clasped the chain of the locket round her neck. She tried to
lift her hand to it, but her strength failed her.

" 'Help me to hide it,' she said.

"I guided her hand. She hid the locket in her bosom, under the
white dressing-gown which she wore that day. The oppression in
her breathing increased. I raised her on the pillow. The pillow
was not high enough. I rested her head on my shoulder, and
partially opened her veil. She was able to speak once more,
feeling a momentary relief.

" 'Promise,' she said, 'that no stranger's hand shall touch me.
Promise to bury me as I am now.'

"I gave her my promise.

"Her failing breath quickened. She was just able to articulate
the next words:

" 'Cover my face again.'

"I drew the veil over her face. She rested a while in silence.
Suddenly the sound of her laboring respiration ceased. She
started, and raised her head from my shoulder.

" 'Are you in pain?' I asked.

" 'I am in heaven!' she answered.

" Her head dropped back on my breast as she spoke. In that last
outburst of joy her last breath had passed. The moment of her
supreme happiness and the moment of her death were one. The mercy
of God had found her at last.

"I return to my letter before the post goes out.

"I have taken the necessary measures for the performance of my
promise. She will be buried with the portrait hidden in her
bosom, and with the black veil over her face. No nobler creature
ever breathed the breath of life. Tell the stranger who sent her
his portrait that her last moments were joyful moments, through


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