ite: "Good-by, my darling," but the words
were scarcely legible, and his nerveless hand fell helpless at his side
as he said:

"She will never know the effort it cost me, nor hear me say that I hope
I am forgiven. It came to me last night, the peace for which I've sought
so long, and Dr. Grant has prayed, and now the way is not so dark, but
Katy will not know."

CHAPTER XLVIII.

LAST HOURS.

Katy would know, for she was coming to him on the morrow, as a brief
telegram announced, and Wilford's face grew brighter with thoughts of
seeing her. He knew when the train was due, and with nervous
restlessness he asked repeatedly what time it was, reducing the hours to
minutes, and counting his own pulses to see if he would last so long.

"Save me, doctor," he whispered to Morris. "Keep me alive till Katy
comes. I must see Katy again."

And Morris, tenderer than a brother, did all he could to keep the feeble
breath from going out ere Katy came.

"I must have clean linen on my bed and on my person, too," Wilford said,
"for Katy is coming, and I must not look repulsive."

The clean white linen was brought, and when it was arranged a smile of
childish satisfaction crept around the lips, as Wilford said:

"Katy can kiss me now. She is not accustomed to hospital fare, you
know."

His mind seemed slightly to wander; but when the hour came for the
arrival of the train he knew it, asking, eagerly:

"Do you suppose she's come?" and straining his ear to catch the sound of
the distant whistle. Dr, Morris had gone to meet her, and the time fled
on apace until at last his step was heard, and Wilford, lifting up his
head, listened for that other step, which, alas! was not there.

"The train is behind time several hours," was Morris' report, and with
a moan Wilford turned away and wept, thinking by some strange chance of
that day when at the farmhouse others had waited for Katy as he was
doing, and waited, too, in vain.

Truly, they of the farmhouse were avenged, for never had they felt so
bitter a pang as Wilford did when he knew Katy had not come.

"It's right," he said, when he could trust himself to speak; "but I did
want to see her. Tell her I am willing."

The last seemed wrung from him almost against his will, and drops of
sweat stood thickly upon his brow. Only Bell and her father guessed what
he meant by being willing. Morris had no idea, but he wiped the
death-sweat away, and said, soothingly:

"Be quiet,