“If he’d only come,” she would say, “and I could place your hand in his before I died.”

But it was not to be.  Day after day John Jr. lingered, dreading to return, for he knew Nellie was there, and he could not meet her, he thought, at the bedside of Mabel.  So he tarried until a letter from ’Lena, which said that Mabel would die, decided him, and rather reluctantly he started homeward.  Meantime Mabel, who knew nothing of her loss, conceived the generous idea of willing all her possessions to her recreant husband.

“Perhaps he’ll think more kindly of me,” said she to his father, to whom she first communicated her plan, and Mr. Livingstone felt that he could not undeceive her.

Accordingly, a lawyer was summoned from Frankfort, and the will duly drawn up, signed, sealed, and delivered into the hands of Mr. Livingstone, whose wife, with a mocking laugh, bade him “guard it carefully, it was so valuable.”

“It shows her goodness of heart, at least,” said he, and possibly Mrs. Livingstone thought so, too, for from that time her manner softened greatly toward her daughter-in-law.

* * * * * *

It was midnight at Maple grove.  On the table, in its accustomed place, the lamp was burning dimly, casting the shadow upon the wall, whilst over the whole room a darker shadow was brooding.  The window was open, and the cool night air came softly in, lifting the masses of raven hair from off the pale brow of the dying.  Tenderly above her Nellie and ’Lena were bending.  They had watched by her many a night, and now she asked them not to leave her, not to disturb a single one—­she would rather die alone.

The sound of horses’ hoofs rang out on the still air, but she did not heed it.  Nearer and nearer it came, over the lawn, up the graveled walk, through the yard, and Nellie’s face blanched to an unnatural whiteness as she thought who that midnight-rider was.  Arrived in Frankfort only an hour before, he had hastened forward, impelled by a something he could not resist.  From afar he had caught the glimmering light, and he felt he was not too late.  He knew how to enter the house, and on through the wide hall and up the broad staircase he came, until he stood in the chamber, where before him another guest had entered, whose name was Death!

Face to face he stood with Nellie Douglass, and between them lay his wife—­her rival—­the white hands folded meekly upon her bosom, and the pale lips just as they had breathed a prayer for him.

“Mabel!  She is dead!” was all he uttered, and falling upon his knees, he buried his face in the pillow, while half scornfully, half pityingly, Nellie gazed upon him.

There was much of bitterness in her heart toward him, not for the wrong he had done her, but for the sake of the young girl, now passed forever away.  ’Lena felt differently.  His silent grief conquered all resentment, and going to his side, she told him how peacefully Mabel had died—­how to the last she had loved and remembered him, praying that he might be happy when she was gone,