ness of our separation. I rose, and took her hand
for the last time.

I see her again now, at that final moment, as plainly as if it had
happened yesterday. She had been suffering from an affection of the
throat; and she had a white silk handkerchief tied loosely round her
neck. She wore a simple dress of purple merino, with a black-silk apron
over it. Her face was deadly pale; her fingers felt icily cold as they
closed round my hand.

"Promise me one thing," I said, "before I go. While I live, I am your
friend--if I am nothing more. If you are ever in trouble, promise that
you will let me know it."

She started, and drew back from me as if I had struck her with a sudden
terror.

"Strange!" she said, speaking to herself. "_He_ feels as I feel. He is
afraid of what may happen to me, in my life to come."

I attempted to reassure her. I tried to tell her what was indeed the
truth--that I had only been thinking of the ordinary chances and changes
of life, when I spoke.

She paid no heed to me; she came back and put her hands on my shoulders
and thoughtfully and sadly looked up in my face.

"My mind is not your mind in this matter," she said. "I once owned to
you that I had my forebodings, when we first spoke of this man's return.
I may tell you now, more than I told you then. I believe I shall die
young, and die miserably. If I am right, have you interest enough still
left in me to wish to hear of it?"

She paused, shuddering--and added these startling words:

"You _shall_ hear of it."

The tone of steady conviction in which she spoke alarmed and distressed
me. My face showed her how deeply and how painfully I was affected.

"There, there!" she said, returning to her natural manner; "don't take
what I say too seriously. A poor girl who has led a lonely life like
mine thinks strangely and talks strangely--sometimes. Yes; I give you
my promise. If I am ever in trouble, I will let you know it. God bless
you--you have been very kind to me--good-by!"

A tear dropped on my face as she kissed me. The door closed between us.
The dark street received me.

It was raining heavily. I looked up at her window, through the drifting
shower. The curtains were parted: she was standing in the gap, dimly lit
by the lamp on the table behind her, waiting for our last look at each
other. Slowly lifting her hand, she waved her farewell at the window,
with the unsought native grace which had charmed me on the night when we
first me