“Should you like food now, if I brought it to you?” said Martin in a low voice.

“Yes, yes; bring me food,—­I am dying.”

Martin released her hand and glided gently out of the room.  In a few minutes he returned with a can of warm soup and a roll; of which Aunt Dorothy partook with an avidity that showed she had been in urgent need.  Immediately after, she went to sleep; and Martin sat upon the bed holding her hand in both of his till she awoke, which she did in an hour after, and again ate a little food.  While she was thus engaged the door opened and a young man entered, who stated that he was a doctor, and had been sent there by a policeman.

“There is no hope,” he said in a whisper, after feeling her pulse; “the system is quite exhausted.”

“Doctor,” whispered Martin, seizing the young man by the arm, “can nothing save her?  I have money, and can command anything that may do her good.”

The doctor shook his head.  “You may give her a little wine.  It will strengthen her for a time, but I fear there is no hope.  I will send in a bottle if you wish it.”

Martin gave him the requisite sum, and in a few minutes the wine was brought up by a boy.

The effect of the wine was wonderful.  Aunt Dorothy’s eyes sparkled as they used to do in days of old, and she spoke with unwonted energy.

“You are kind to me, young man,” she said, looking earnestly into Martin’s face, which, however, he kept carefully in shadow.  “May our Lord reward you.”

“Would you like me to talk to you of your nephew?” said Martin; “I have seen him abroad.”

“Seen my boy!  Is he not dead?”

“No; he is alive, and in this country, too.”

Aunt Dorothy turned pale, but did not reply for a few minutes, during which she grasped his hand convulsively.

“Turn your face to the light,” she said faintly.

Martin obeyed, and bending over her whispered, “He is here; I am Martin, my dear, dear aunt—­”

No expression of surprise escaped from Aunt Dorothy as she folded her arms round his neck and pressed his head upon her bosom.  His hot tears fell upon her neck while she held him, but she spoke not.  It was evident that as the strength infused by the wine abated her faculties became confused.  At length she whispered,—­

“It is good of you to come to see me, darling boy.  You have often come to me in my dreams.  But do not leave me so soon; stay a very little longer,”

“This is no dream, dearest aunt,” whispered Martin, while his tears flowed faster; “I am really here.”

“Ay, so you always say, my darling child; but you always go away and leave me.  This is a dream, no doubt, like all the rest; but oh, it seems very very real!  You never wept before, although you often smiled.  Surely this is the best and brightest dream I ever had!”

Continuing to murmur his name while she clasped him tightly to her bosom, Aunt Dorothy gently fell asleep.