She raised her head and a faint smile crept feebly across her face.

“Rest! rest!  If my time is so short I can not afford to rest.  There is so much to do, so much that I have planned, and hoped to accomplish.  I am only beginning to learn how to handle my tools, my life-work is as yet barely begun.  When my long rest overtakes me, I must not be found idly sitting with folded hands.  Since I was thirteen years old I have never once rested; and now I am afraid I never shall.  I would rather die working than live a drone.”

“But, my dear Miss Earl, those who love you have claims upon you.”

“I am alone in this world.  I have no family to love me, and my work is to me what I suppose dear relatives must be to other women.  For six years I have been studying to fit myself for usefulness, have lived with and for books; and though I have a few noble and kind friends, do you suppose I ever forget that I am kinless?  It is a mournful thing to know that you are utterly isolated among millions of human beings; that not a drop of your blood flows in any other veins.  My God only has a claim upon me.  Dr. Howell, I thank you for your candor.  It is best that I should know the truth; and I am glad that, instead of treating me like a child, you have frankly told me all.  More than once I have had a singular feeling, a shadowy presentiment that I should not live to be an old woman, but I thought it the relic of childish superstition, and I did not imagine that—­that I might be called away at any instant.  I did not suspect that just as I had arranged my workshop, and sharpened all my tools, and measured off my work, that my morning sun would set suddenly in the glowing east, and the long, cold night fall upon me, ’wherein no man can work’—­”

Her voice faltered and the physician turned away, and looked out of the window.

“I am not afraid of death, nor am I so wrapped up in the mere happiness which this world gives; no, no; but I love my work!  Ah!  I want to live long enough to finish something grand and noble, something that will live when the hands that fashioned it have crumbled back to dust; something that will follow me across and beyond the dark, silent valley; something that can not be hushed and straightened and bandaged and screwed down under my coffin-lid—­oh! something that will echo in eternity! that grandpa and I can hear ‘sounding down the ages,’ making music for the people, when I go to my final rest!  And, please God!  I shall!  I will!  Oh, doctor!  I have a feeling here which assures me I shall be spared till I finish my darling scheme.  You know Glanville said, and Poe quoted, ’Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.’  Mine is strong, invincible; it will sustain me for a longer period than you seem to believe.  The end is not yet.  Doctor, do not tell people what you have told me.  I do not want to be watched and pitied, like a doomed victim who walks about the scaffold with a rope already around his neck.  Let the secret rest between you and me.”