But before she went Rachael opened her arms, and Charlotte came into them, and cried bitterly for a few minutes.

“Poor little girl!” said the older woman tenderly.  “Poor little girl!”

“I always loved you,” gulped Charlotte, “and I would have come to see you, if M’ma—­And of course it was nothing but the merest friendship b-between Charlie and me, only we—­we always seemed to like each other.”

And Charlotte, her romance ended, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and went away.  Rachael went slowly upstairs.

Late that same afternoon, as she and the trained nurse were dreamily keeping one of the long sick-watches, she looked at the patient, and was surprised to see his rather insignificant eyes fixed earnestly upon her.  Instantly she went to the bedside and knelt down.

“What is it, Charlie-boy?” she asked, in the merest rich, tender essence of a tone.  The sick eyes broke over her distressedly.  She could see the fine dew of perspiration at his waxen temples, and the lean hand over which she laid her own was cool after all these feverish days, unwholesomely cool.

“Aunt Rachael—­” The customs of earth were still strong when he could waste so much precious breath upon the unnecessary address.  The nurse hovered nervously near, but did not attempt to silence him.  “Going fast,” he whispered.

“It will be rest, Charlie-boy,” she answered, tears in her eyes.

He smiled, and drifted into that other world so near our own for a few moments.  Then she started at Charlotte’s name.

“Charlotte,” he said in a ghostly whisper, “said she would like a house all green-and pink-with roses—­”

Rachael was instantly tense.  Ah, to get hold of poor starved little Charlotte, to give her these last precious seconds, to let her know he had thought of her!

“What about Charlotte, dear, dear boy?” she asked eagerly.

“I thought—­it would be so pleasant—­there—­” he said, smiling.  He closed his eyes.  She heard the little prayer that he had learned in his babyhood for this hour.  Then there was silence.  Silence.

Silence.  Rachael looked fearfully at the nurse.  A few minutes later she went to tell his grandmother, who, with two grave sisters sitting beside her, had been lying down since the religious rites of an hour or two ago.  Rachael and the smaller, rosy-faced nun helped the stiff, stricken old lady to her feet, and it was with Rachael’s arm about her that she went to her grandson’s side.

That night old Mrs. Gregory turned to her daughter-in-law and said:  “You’re good, Rachael.  Someone prayed for you long ago; someone gave you goodness.  Don’t forget—­if you ever need—­to turn to prayer.  I don’t ask you to do any more.  It was for James to make his sons Christians, and James did not do so.  But promise me something, Rachael:  if James—­hurts you, if he fails you—­promise me that you will forgive him!”