For a moment longer she detained him, while she prayed silently for heaven’s blessing on his wayward head, and then releasing him, she bade him go.  Had he known of all that was to follow, he would not have left her, but he believed as he said, that she would survive the winter, and with one more kiss upon her brow, where the perspiration was standing thickly, he departed.  The window of Mabel’s room commanded a view of the turnpike, and when the sound of horses’ feet was heard on the lawn, she requested ’Lena to lead her to the window, where she stood watching him until a turn in the road hid him from her sight.

“’Tis the last time,” said she, “and he will never know how much this parting cost me.”

That night, as they were alone in the gathering twilight, Mabel said, “If I die before Nellie comes I want you to tell her how it all happened, and that she must forgive him, for he was not to blame.”

“I do not understand you,” said ’Lena, and then, in broken sentences, Mabel told what her mother-in-law had said, and how terribly John was deceived.  “Of course he couldn’t love me after that,” said she, “and it’s right that I should die.  He and Nellie were made for each other, and if the inhabitants of heaven are allowed to watch over those they loved on earth, I will ask to be always near them.  You will tell her, won’t you?”

’Lena promised, adding that she thought Mabel would see Nellie herself as she was to sail from Liverpool the 20th, and a few days proved her conjecture correct.  Entering Mabel’s room one morning about a week after John’s departure, she brought the glad news that Nellie had returned, and would be with them to-morrow.

The next day Nellie came, but she, too, was changed.  The roundness of her form and face was gone; the rose had faded from her cheek, and her footsteps were no longer light and bounding as of old.  She knew of John Jr.’s absence or she would not have come, for she could not meet him face to face.  She had heard, too, of his treatment of Mabel, and while she felt indignant toward him, she freely forgave his innocent wife, who she felt had been more sinned against than sinning.

With a faint cry Mabel started from her pillow, and burying her face on Nellie’s neck, wept like a child.  “You do not hate me,” she said at last, “or you would not have come so soon.”

“Hate you?—­no,” answered Nellie.  “I have no cause for hating you.”

“And you will stay with me until I die—­until he comes home—­and forgive him, too,” Mabel continued.

“I can promise the first, but the latter is harder,” said Nellie, her cheeks burning with anger as she gazed on the wreck before her.

“But you must, you will,” exclaimed Mabel, rapidly telling all she knew; then falling back upon the pillow, she added, “You’ll forgive him Nellie?”

As time passed on, Mabel grew weaker and weaker, clinging closer to Nellie as she felt the dark shadow of death creeping gradually over her.