fere with your amusement long; and
in the meantime, believe me, I am sensible of your goodness.
It may make matters easier if you take a letter from me to my
sister. I am afraid I cannot write myself, but I could
dictate--if it be not troubling you too much--there are a pen
and ink somewhere there; and if you could give me anything--I
still feel rather faint."

Graham rose, gave him another cordial, drew a small table to
the bedside, and sat down to write. M. Linders considered for
a moment, and then began to dictate.

"Ma soeur,--We parted five and twenty years ago, with a mutual
determination never to see each other again--a resolution which
has been perfectly well kept, and which there is no danger of
our breaking now, as I shall be in my grave before you read
this letter; and you will have the further consolation of
reflecting that, as we have never met again in this world,
neither is there any probability of our doing so in another----"

"Pardon me," said Graham, laying down his pen, as M. Linders
dictated these last words, "but you are about to recommend
your child to your sister's care; of what use can it be to
begin with words that can only embitter any ill-feeling there
may have been between you?"

"But it is a great consolation I am offering her there," says
M. Linders, in his feeble voice. "However, as you will--
_recommencons;_ but no more interruptions, Monsieur, for my
strength is not inexhaustible."

"Ma soeur,--It is now five and twenty years since we parted,
with the determination never to see each other again. Whether
we have done well to keep this resolution or not, matters
little now; we shall, at any rate, have no temptation in the
future to break it, for I shall be in my grave before your
receive this letter. I am dying, a fact which may possess some
faint interest for you even now--or may not--that is not to the
purpose either. It is not of myself that I would speak, but of
my child. I am sending her to you, Therese, as to the only
relative she has in the world; look on her, if you prefer it,
as your mother's only grandchild; we had a mother once who
loved me, and whom you professed to love--for her sake be kind
to Madelon. I am not rich, and without money I cannot leave
her amongst strangers, otherwise I would have found some other
means of providing for her; at the same time, I do not send
her to you absolutely penniless--she will take to you the sum
of three thousand francs, whi