Fanny was bewildered, and looked imploringly at Mr. Miller, who said, “Richard, do you think it is Julia who is standing by you now?” The sick man gave a startled look and almost shrieked out, “Julia?  Yes, is it not Julia?  Speak quick and tell me, isn’t Julia here?” Mr. Miller’s eyes filled with tears as he answered sadly, “No, Richard, Julia is not here; it is Fanny who has come.”  A deathly paleness passed over Mr. Wilmot’s face and a paroxysm of delirium ensued more violent than any which had preceded it.  At last it partially passed off and he became comparatively calm, but still persisted in thinking it was Julia whose hand he held in his and whose breath was upon his cheek.  “Heaven bless you for coming, beloved one,” he would say, “I knew you would come, and still the dreadful thought has haunted me, that you might be false, for that was a cruel letter; but you did not write it, did you?”

Fanny answered through her tears, “No, Mr. Wilmot, I did not write it.  It is Fanny who is speaking to you.”  But Mr. Wilmot understood only the first part of what she said, and continued, “I knew you did not, I am satisfied now to die; and yet ’tis hard to die when I am so young and so far from home, but it is sweet to know that I have your love to the last.  When I am dead, you will tell them at home how I loved and prayed for them.  My mother will weep bitterly for her son, who died so far away, but she does not love me as well as you do, does she, dearest?”

Just then Dr. Lacey entered the room.  He seemed surprised to see Fanny there, and to hear the words of endearment addressed to her by Mr. Wilmot, but Mr. Miller softly told him of the mistake.  This seemed to satisfy him, but he anxiously noted every change of Fanny’s countenance.  At last Mr. Wilmot said, “If you did not write that letter, who did?  Was it, could it have been your sister?”

“Oh, no!  No!” said Fanny, “I did not write it.”

“I know you did not, dearest,” said he; “you would not do such a thing, but who did?  I cannot think it was Fanny, who was always so gentle, so guileless.”

Poor Fanny!  She felt that her beloved teacher was dying with a suspicion of her innocence, and she wept most bitterly.  At last a change passed over Mr. Wilmot’s face, a change which showed that the last trying moment had come.  It frequently occurs with dying persons that at the last their faculties are for a moment fully restored.  So it was with Mr. Wilmot.  A bright smile broke over his face and looking up at Mr. Miller, he said, “I thank my Heavenly Father I can see again.  Now, where is Julia?  I would look on her face once more.”

“I told you,” said Mr. Miller, “that you were mistaken; it is not Julia.”

“Not Julia!” said Mr. Wilmot, again becoming delirious.  “Not Julia!  It cannot be true.”  Then drawing Fanny toward him he looked earnestly in her face.  Slowly the bitter truth broke over his mind, and he said, “Yes, I was mistaken!  But I bless you for coming; but Julia, my too dearly loved Julia—­she is not here.  Oh, if I can never see her in this world, shall I see her in heaven?”