y speaks at all," I said.

"Ah," he said. "Well, I have ordered her not to talk. But does she ask any
questions?" he continued.

"No," I said; "not of me. She has not asked one."

I saw then that the same vague fear which was filling my heart was taking
shape in his.

From that moment, he watched her hourly, with an anxiety which soon
betrayed itself to my aunt.

"William, why does not Annie get stronger?" she said suddenly to him one
day.

"I do not know why," he answered, with a solemn sadness and emphasis in
his tone which was, as I think, he intended it to be, a partial revelation
to her, and a warning. Aunt Ann staggered to a chair and looked at him
without a word. He answered her look by one equally agonized and silent,
and left the room.

The baby was now two weeks old. Annie was no stronger than on the day of
his birth. She lay day and night in a tranquil state, smiling with
inexpressible sweetness when she was spoken to, rarely speaking of her own
accord, doing with gentle docility all she was told to do, but looking
more and more like a transfigured saint. All the arch, joyous, playful
look was gone; there was no added age in the look which had taken its
place; neither any sorrow; but something ineffably solemn, rapt, removed
from earth. Sometimes, when Edward came to her bedside, a great wave of
pitying tenderness would sweep over her face, giving it such a heavenly
look that he would fall on his knees.

"O Helen," he said once, after such a moment as this, "I shall go mad if
Annie does not get well. I do not dare to kiss even her hand. I feel as if
she never had been mine."

At last the day and the hour and the moment came which I had known would
come. Annie spoke to me in a very gentle voice, and said,--

"Helen, darling, you know I am going to die?"

"Yes dear, I think so," I said, in as quiet a voice as hers.

"You know it is better that I should, darling?" she said with a trembling
voice.

"Yes, dear, I know it," I replied.

She drew a long sigh of relief. "I am so glad, darling; I thought you knew
it, but I could not be sure. I think no one else understands. I hope dear
mamma will never suspect. You will not let her, if you can help it, the
dear doctor will not tell her; he knows, though. Darling, I want you to
have my baby. I think Edward will be willing. He is so young, he will be
happy again before long; he will not miss him. You know we have always
said it was partly your baby. Loo