voice she said what follows:

"I am going to tell you a little secret; one I have kept from my own
father. It is--that I have not very long to live."

Her hazel eye rested calmly on his face while she said these words
quietly.

He received them with amazement at first; amazement that soon deepened
into horror. "What do you mean?" he gasped. "What words are these?"

"Thank you for minding so much," said she sweetly. "I will tell you. I
have fits of coughing, not frequent, but violent; and then blood very
often comes from my lungs. That is a bad sign, you know. I have been so
for four months now, and I am a good deal wasted; my hand used to be very
plump; look at it now. Poor Arthur!"

She turned away her head to drop a gentle, unselfish tear or two; and
Hazel stared with increasing alarm at the lovely but wasted hand she
still held out to him, and glanced, too, at Arthur Wardlaw's letter, held
slightly by the beloved fingers.

He said nothing, and, when she looked round, again, he was pale and
trembling. The revelation was so sudden.

"Pray be calm, sir," said she. "We need speak of this no more. But now, I
think, you will not be surprised that I come to you for religious advice
and consolation, short as our acquaintance is."

"I am in no condition to give them," said Hazel, in great agitation. "I