The old lady drew the young girl’s head down close to her and kissed her upon the cheek.  “The docter kin do me no good.  I’ve sent fer yer becuz I know yer love me, and I wanted to know that one person would be sorry when I wuz gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Alice, “that I cannot see to help you, but you are not going to die; you must have the doctor at once.”

“No,” said Mrs. Putnam, “I want to die, I want to see my boy.  I sent for you becuz I wanted to tell you that I am goin’ to leave this house and farm and all my money to you.”

“To me!” cried Alice, astonished.  “Why, how can you talk so, Aunt Heppy?  You have a daughter, who is your legal heir; how could you ever think of robbing your own flesh and blood of her inheritance?”

“She’s no flesh and blood of mine!”

“What!” cried Alice, “isn’t Lindy your own child?”

“No,” said Mrs. Putnam savagely.  “Silas and me didn’t think we’d have any children, so we ’dopted her jest afore we moved down from New Hampshire and settled in this town.”

“Do you know who her parents were?” inquired Alice.

“Alice, what did you do with that letter I gave you the las’ time you were here?”

“It is locked up in my writing desk at home,” answered Alice.

“What did yer promise to do with it?” said Mrs. Putnam.

“I promised,” replied Alice, “not to let any one see it, and to destroy it within twenty-four hours after your death.”

“And you will keep yer promise?” asked the old woman.

“My word is sacred,” said Alice solemnly.

“Alice Pettengill,” cried Mrs. Putnam, “if you break your word to me I shall be sorry that I ever loved you; I shall repent that I made you my heiress.”  And her voice rose to a sharp, shrill tone.  “I’ll haunt you as long as you live.”

The girl shrank back from her.

“Don’t mind a poor old woman whose hours are numbered, but you’ll keep yer promise, won’t yer, Alice?” And she grasped both Alice’s hands convulsively.

“Aunt Heppy,” said Alice, “I’ve given you my promise, and I’ll keep my word whatever happens.  So don’t worry any more about it, Auntie.”

For a few moments Mrs. Putnam remained quiet; then she spoke in clear, even tones.  Not a word was lost upon Alice.  “This adopted daughter of mine has been a curse to me ever since I knew her.  She was two years older than Jones.  They grew up together as brother and sister, but she wasn’t satisfied with that, she fell in love with my son, and she made him love her.  She turned him agin his mother.  She found out that there wuz no law agin a man’s marryin’ his adopted sister.  We had to send him away from home, but she followed him.  She wuz goin’ to elope with him, but I got wind of it, and I stopped that; then Jones died away from home and left her all his money.  He wuz so bitter agin me that he put in his will that she was not to touch a dollar of my money, but better