helter for you. There is comfort in the thought. But
I hope it will be soon, my darling, before your spirit is broken and
your youth dulled."

"I shall marry as soon as ever I can," says Georgie, making a last
terrible effort to appear hopeful and resigned. "I shall meet some one
very soon, no doubt,--very soon: so do not fret about me any more. Why
should I not, indeed? I am very pretty, am I not, papa?" In spite of
the lightness of her words, a heavy choking sob escapes her as she
finishes her little set speech. She buries her face in the
bed-clothes, to stifle her rising grief, but her father is almost too
far gone to notice it.

"Yes,--so like your mother," he mutters, somewhat thickly, clutching
aimlessly at the quilt. "Poor Alice!--poor girl! It was that day on
the beach, when the waves were dancing, and the sun----or was
it?----Did the old man ever forgive----?"

He is wandering, dreaming his death-dream of happier days, going back,
even as he sinks into everlasting sleep, to the gilded hours of youth.

The girl presses his hand to rouse him.

"Think of _me_ now," she entreats, despairingly; "it will only be for
a little while,--such a little while,--and then you will be with _her_
forever. Oh, papa! my dear, my dear; smile at me once again. Think of
me happily; let me feel when you are gone that your last hours with me
were peaceful."

His eyes meet hers, and he smiles tenderly. Gently she slips her arms
round him, and, laying her golden head upon the pillow, close to him,
presses her lips to his,--the soft warm lips, that contrast so
painfully with those pale cold other ones they touch. So she remains
for a long time, kissing him softly every now and again, and thinking
hopelessly of the end.

She neither sighs, nor weeps, nor makes any outward sign of anguish.
Unlike most people, she has realized to its fullest the awfulness of
this thing that is about to befall her. And the knowledge has
paralyzed her senses, rendering her dull with misery, and tearless.

Presently the white lids, weary with nights of watching, droop. Her
breath comes more evenly. Her head sinks more heavily against the
pillow, and, like a child worn out with grief and pain, she sleeps.

When next she wakes, gray dawn is everywhere. The wind still moans
unceasingly. Still the rain-drops patter against the panes. She raises
her head affrightedly, and, springing to his feet, bends with bated
breath above the quiet form lying on the b