the ladies
were both quite ready. And being answered in the affirmative, he took
them out and put them into the carriage, that was immediately started at
a rate that astonished the usually steady-going horses.

The journey was made almost in silence. Mrs. Fanning wept quietly behind
her pocket-handkerchief, and Alden and Emma sat with their hands clasped
in each other's in mute sympathy.

It was some time after midnight when the carriage entered Wendover and
drew up before the old Reindeer Hotel.

Lights about the house at that hour showed that something very unusual
was transpiring within.

Hezekiah Greenfield himself came out to meet the party from Blue Cliffs.

With much gravity he greeted them, and to Mrs. Fanning's agonized
inquiries about her daughter, he answered:

"I can't well tell you how she is, ma'am. But I will call Sukey, and she
will take you to her."

He then conducted them into the parlor and went out in search of his
wife.

Very soon good Mrs. Greenfield came waddling in.

Mrs. Fanning arose and hurried to meet her, eagerly inquiring:

"How is my child? How is she now? Does she still live?"

"Yes, ma'am, she is alive, and when she sent for you she was still in
her right senses; but now she is wandering, poor girl, and imagines
herself still to be living at Peerch P'int," answered the weeping woman,
as she took the poor mother's hand to lead her to her daughter.

She led her to a spacious upper chamber, dimly lighted by a single
taper, where on a white bed lay extended the form of the dying girl.

"Ivy, my darling! My darling Ivy, do you know me?" tenderly whispered
the poor mother, taking her erring daughter's wasted hand and gazing
into the fading face, nothing but love and sorrow and forgiveness in her
heart.

"Is that you, mamma? Is it near morning? I'm so glad!" said the dying
girl, panting as she spoke. "Oh, I've had such a dreadful dream,
mamma--such a long, dreadful dream! I dreamed of doing such horrible and
wicked things--that I never could have done in my waking hours. I have
lived long years in last night's dreadful dream. I am glad it is
morning. Kiss me, mamma."

These were her last words, panted forth with her last breath. The
mother's kiss fell upon "unanswering clay."

Katharine Fanning was borne in a fainting condition from the death-bed
of her daughter and conveyed to another chamber, where she received the
most sympathetic and affectionate ministrations from Emma