house like the ghost of her former self. Lynn alone maintained
his cheerfulness.

"Iris," said Aunt Peace, one day, "come here."

"I'm here," said the girl, kneeling beside the bed, and putting her cold
hand upon the other's burning cheek, "what can I do?"

"Nothing, dearie. I could get well, I think, were it not for my terrible
dreams."

Iris shuddered, and yet was thankful because Aunt Peace could call her
delirium "dreams."

"Lately," continued Aunt Peace, "I have been afraid that I am not going
to get well."

"Don't!" cried Iris, sharply, turning her face away.

"Dearie, dearie," said the other, caressingly, "be my brave girl, and
let me talk to you. When the dreams come back, I shall not know you, but
now I do. I am stronger to-day, and we are alone, are we not? Where are
the others?"

"The Doctor has gone to see someone who is very ill. Lynn has taken Mrs.
Irving out for a walk."

"I am glad," said Aunt Peace, tenderly. "Margaret has been very good to
me. You have all been good to me."

Iris stroked the flushed face softly with her cool hand. In her eyes
were love and longing, and a foreshadowed loneliness.

"Dearie," Aunt Peace continued, "listen while I have the strength to
speak. All the papers are in a tin box, in the trunk in the attic. There
you will find everything that is known of your father and mother. I do
not anticipate any need of the information, but it is well that you
should know where to find it.

"I have left the house to Margaret," she went on, with difficulty, "for
it was rightfully hers, and after her it goes to Lynn, but there is a
distinct understanding that it shall be your home while you live, if you
choose to claim it. Margaret has promised me to keep you with her. When
Lynn marries, as some day he will, you will be left alone. You and
Margaret can make a home together."

The girl's face was hidden in her hands, and her shoulders shook with
sobs.

"Don't, dearie," pleaded Aunt Peace, gently; "be my brave girl. Look up
at me and smile. Don't, dearie--please don't!

"I have left you enough to make you comfortable," she went on, after
a little, "but not enough to be a care to you, nor to make you the
prey of fortune hunters. It is, I think, securely invested, and you
will have the income while you live. Some few keepsakes are yours,
also--they are written down in"--here she hesitated--"in a paper Doctor
Brinkerhoff has. He has been very good to us, dearie. He is almost yo