"But maybe," he added a moment later, speaking slowly and with difficulty, "maybe she sees and knows now, better than she has all these years--and is happier." "Why didn't she write, why didn't she tell us where she was ?" wailed Patience despairingly.

"I would have wrote at once and told her how we'd forgiven everything." "Poor maid," said Thomas Dawson softly, "I reckon she had her reasons; her letter tells us that, without putting it into so many words.

Read it again, mother, read it to the child--I can't." Patience took up the letter, but it was some time before she could control herself sufficiently to begin.
"My dearest Father and Mother, "This is to tell you I am very ill, dying.

The doctor says that if I want to let any one know, I must do so at once.

You are the only ones that care, and I am writing to you to say good-bye for ever.