She was alone when he came in, and after he had inquired after her condition, she motioned him to a chair.
"Sit down, Paul," she said; "I want to have a little talk with you." He sat down and she went on: "I find that I have been greatly enfeebled by this attack, and though the doctor tells me I may regain reasonable health, he warns me that I shall not live for ever, and that when I die I may die without much warning." Expressions of mingled grief, surprise, and incredulity from Paul interrupted her at this point, but she presently went on:-- "It is really nothing to distress yourself over, my dear child.

He does not say that I may not live on indefinitely, but only that when death comes he is likely to enter without knocking, and I'm sure any sensible person would much rather have it so.

It was of Ida that I wanted to speak to you.

Since I have been sick, and especially since what the doctor told me, I have been thinking what would become of her if I should die.

Did you ever consider, Paul, that she has not even a name?
The world does not recognize the way by which she came back into it, and in the eye of the law she has no right to the name of Ida Ludington, or to any other." "I suppose not," said Paul.
"It does not matter while I live," pursued Miss Ludington; "but what if I should die ?" "Let us not talk of that," replied Paul, "or think of it.