sometimes; but not often; the neighbors are so kind; and when I am dead they will see that Nannine is made ready for America, with Jerrie; and the papers, and the diamonds, which I might have pawned when our need was greatest, but I could not.  I must save them for Jerrie, and may she wear them some day, and many days in the years to come, when her mother is dust and ashes in the ground, but a glorified spirit in Paradise, where I shall watch over her, and, if I can, be with her often, and keep myself in her mind, so that she will never forget my face or the old home in Germany.

’God bless my little daughter, and make her a true, noble woman; and God bless you, Arthur’s friends, who read this, and incline you to be kind and just to Jerrie, and see that she has her own; for there must be money at Tracy Park; and if you are poor and Jerrie comes rich, tell her from her mother to be kind to you, and give as you have given to her.  Now I must stop, I am so tired, and it is growing dark, and Nannie has opened the stove door to let the light fall on the paper in my lap, and Jerrie is standing by me and says, “Are you going to God pretty soon?”

    ’Yes, darling, very soon—­to-night, perhaps, or to-morrow, or when
    He will.  The air grows cold, the night is coming on, my eyes grow
    dim, my head is tired.  I think, yes, I think it will be to-morrow.

    ’Good-bye.

    ‘GRETCHEN TRACY.’

As she finished reading Marian arose, and going up to Jerrie kissed her lovingly and said to her in German: 

’That was your mother’s picture in our old home in Wiesbaden.  I am so glad for you.’

A low sob was Jerrie’s reply, and then Judge St. Claire asked: 

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes,’ Marian said; ’All except Mr. Tracy’s letters to Gretchen.  Oh, no,’ she added; ‘there is something more;’ and feeling in the bag, she drew out two small papers, one crumpled and worn, as if it had been often referred to, the other folded neatly and tied with a white ribbon.

This Marian opened first, and found it to be a certificate, written in English, to the effect that Mrs. Arthur Tracy, nee Marguerite Heinrich, died at such a date and was buried by the Rev. Mr. Bellows, the resident rector of the English church; the other was in Arthur’s handwriting, and the directions he had written to his wife, as to what she was to do and how to find Tracy Park.

‘Yes,’ Judge St. Claire said, coming forward and taking the paper from her hand, ’this is what the station-master saw the poor woman examining that night in the storm.  She probably dropped it into the bag without stopping to fold it.  There can be no doubt.’

Then a deep silence reigned for a moment in the room, until Mrs. Tracy, who, all through the reading had stood like a block of granite by the window, turned and walking swiftly up to Jerrie, said, in a bitter tone: