forced itself home upon me, I felt much dissatisfied with Lona, for I thought such a course unworthy of her.  As I saw more of her I noted still greater changes in her character.  As I had known her from childhood, she had been most uniform in her temper and her conduct; now all this was changed.  To-day, perhaps, she would be like her old self,—­ only weaker and more fragile,—­to-morrow a new being entirely, stronger and more restless, with a demoniac light in her eyes, and a sort of feverish malignancy dominating her whole personality.  When I noticed this I studied to avoid her.  If the Lona I had known were merely an ideal of which no actual prototype existed, I wished to be allowed to cherish that ideal rather than to have it cruelly shattered to make room for the real Lona.  I had not seen her for many weeks when one day, to my surprise, I received a note from her.  It was short, and so impressed me that I can remember every word of it.

“My dear cousin: 

“I send this note to you by Kandia that you may get it before it is too late for you to do what I wish.  I am a caged bird in my husband’s house.  My every movement is watched, and they would not let you come to me were my husband at home, so, I beseech you, come at once lest he should return before I have had time to intrust to you my last request.  I am dying, Moro, and it is within your power to say whether my spirit shall rest in peace, or be torn forever and ever by the fangs of a horrible regret.  My secret is as lead upon my soul and to you only can I tell it.  Come—­come at once!

“Lona.”

You can imagine the effect of this revelation upon me better than I can describe it.  I did not even know she was seriously ill, and with her urgent request for an interview came the sad tidings that she was dying, and the confirmation of my fear—­that she had adopted the religion of her English lover.  I lost no time in going to her.  I found her in a state of feverish expectation, fearful lest I should either not be able to come at all, or her husband would return before my arrival.  She was worn to a shadow of her former self, and I realised with a pang that she was indeed dying.

“I knew I could depend upon you, Moro,” she said as I entered, “even though you think I have lost all claim upon your regard.  I said to myself, ‘He will come because of the respect he once had for me,’ and I was right.  Yes,” she continued, noticing my astonishment at the change in her condition, “I am almost gone.  I should not have lasted so long, were it not that I could not die till I had spoken.  Now I shall be free to go, and the horrible struggle will be over.  You have been much among the English, Moro, both here and in England, and know they believe they will meet again in heaven those they have loved on earth.”

She sank back exhausted from excitement and effort, as she said this, and I feared for a moment she would be unable to proceed.  I told her what I knew about the Christian’s hope of heaven, and suggested to her that, as her husband might return at any moment, she had best confide to me at once any trust with which she wished to charge me.  For a moment she made no reply, but said at length: