shed sketches could compare with it. As for
the lie involved, it will stand among my few good deeds; I know, at the
judgment-bar.

And she was satisfied. "I have never known what it was," she whispered,
"to be fully happy until now." She closed her eyes, and when the lids
fell I again thought that she had passed away. But no, there was still
pulsation in her small, thin wrist. As she perceived my touch she
smiled. "Yes, I am happy," she said again, though without audible
sound.

The old aunt returned; food was prepared, and she took some. I myself
went out after wine that should be rich and pure. She rallied a little,
but I did not leave her: her eyes dwelt upon me and compelled me to
stay, or rather my conscience compelled me. It was a damp night, and I
had a little fire made. The wine, fruit, flowers, and candles I had
ordered made the bare place for the time being bright and fragrant.
Aunt Martha dozed in her chair from sheer fatigue--she had watched many
nights--but Miss Grief was awake, and I sat beside her.

"I make you my executor," she murmured, "as to the drama. But my other
manuscripts place, when I am gone, under my head, and let them be
buried with me. They are not many--those you have and these. See!"

I followed her gesture, and saw under her pillows the edges of two more
copybooks like the one I had. "Do not look at them--my poor dead
children!" she said tenderly. "Let them depart with me--unread, as I
have been."

Later she whispered, "Did you wonder why I came to you? It was the
contrast. You were young--strong--rich--praised--loved--successful: all
that I was not. I wanted to look at you--and imagine how it would feel.
You had success--but I had the greater power. Tell me, did I not have
it?"

"Yes, Aaronna."

"It is all in the past now. But I am satisfied."

After another pause she said with a faint smile, "Do you remember when
I fell asleep in your parlor? It was the good and rich food. It was so
long since I had had food like that!"

I took her hand and held it, conscience-stricken, but now she hardly
seemed to perceive my touch. "And the smoking?" she whispered. "Do you
remember how you laughed? I saw it. But I had heard that smoking
soothed--that one was no longer tired and hungry--with a cigar."

In little whispers of this sort, separated by long rests and pauses,
the night passed. Once she asked if her aunt was asleep, and when I
answered in the affirmative she said, "Help her to re