d I know how I came--and also _why_ I came." Here her lips
quivered. "And I shall see my father no more, for he has gone--and I am
all--all alone in the world!" She paused--then added, "Do you think I am
dying? If so, I am very glad!"

"Hush my dear!" said Ulrika. "You mustn't talk in that way. Your husband
is coming presently--" she broke off suddenly, startled at the look of
utter despair in Thelma's eyes.

"You are wrong," she replied wearily. "He will not come--he cannot! He
does not want me any more!"

And two large tears rolled slowly down her pale cheeks. Ulrika wondered,
but forebore to pursue the subject further, fearing to excite or
distress her,--and contented herself for the present with attending to
her patient's bodily needs. She went to the fire, and began to pour out
some nourishing soup, which she always had there in readiness,--and
while she was thus engaged, Thelma's brain cleared more and more,--till
with touching directness, and a new hope flushing her face, she asked
softly and beseechingly for her child. "I forgot!" she said simply and
sweetly. "Of course I am not alone any more. Do give me my baby--I am
much better--nearly well--and I should like to kiss it."

Ulrika stood mute, taken aback by this demand. She dared not tell her
the truth--she feared its effect on the sensitive mind that had so
lately regained its balance. But while she hesitated, Thelma
instinctively guessed all she strove to hide.

"It is dead!" she cried. "Dead!--and I never knew!"

And, burying her golden head in her pillows, she broke into a passion of
convulsive sobbing. Ulrika grew positively desperate at the sound,--what
_was_ she to do? Everything seemed to go against her--she was inclined
to cry herself. She embraced the broken-hearted girl, and tried to
soothe her, but in vain. The long delirium and subsequent
weakness,--combined with the secret trouble on her mind,--had deprived
poor Thelma of all resisting power, and she wept on and on in Ulrika's
arms till nature was exhausted, and she could weep no longer. Then she
lay motionless, with closed eyes, utterly drained in body and spirit,
scarcely breathing, and, save for a shivering moan that now and then
escaped her, she seemed almost insensible. Ulrika watched her with
darkening, meditative brows,--she listened to the rush of the storm-wind
without,--it was past eleven o'clock at night. She began to count on her
fingers--it was the sixteenth day since the birth