He extended his hand; but she did not take it.
"How is Edith ?" was half stammered.
"She is sinking rapidly," replied the aunt.
Edwin staggered back into a chair.
"Is she ill ?" he inquired, with a quivering lip.
"Ill! She is dying!" There was something of indignation in the way this was said.
"Dying!" The young man clasped his hands together with a gesture of despair.
"How long has she been sick ?" he next ventured to ask.
"For months she has been dying daily," said the aunt.

There was a meaning in her tones that the young man fully comprehended.

He had not dreamed of this.
"Can I see her ?" The aunt shook her head, as she answered, "Let her spirit depart in peace." "I will not disturb, but calm her spirit," said the young man, earnestly.

"Oh, let me see her, that I may call her back to life!" "It is too late," replied the aunt.

"The oil is exhausted, and light is just departing." Edwin started to his feet, exclaiming passionately--"Let me see her! Let me see her!" "To see her thus, would be to blow the breath that would extinguish the flickering light," said the aunt.