loving Arthur a heap, Miggie. It seems just as if he was my
mother, and the name 'Child-wife' makes little bits of waves run
all over me. He's a good boy, and God will pay him by and by for
what he's been to me. Some folks here call me Mrs. St. Claire. Why
do they? Sometimes I remember something about somebody somewhere,
more than a hundred years ago, but just as I think I've got hold
of it right, it goes away. I lose it entirely, and my head is so
snarled up. Come and unsnarl it, wont you? Nina is sick, Nina is
dying, Nina is crazy. You must come."

The second postscript showed a bolder, firmer hand, and Edith
read,

"I, too, echo Nina's words, 'Come, Miggie, come.' Nina wants you,
and I--Heaven only knows how much I want you--but, Edith, were you
in verity Richard's wife, you could not be more sacred to me than
you are as his betrothed, and I promise solemnly that I will not
seek to influence your decision. The time is surely coming when I
shall be alone; no gentle Nina, sweet 'Child-wife' clinging to me.
She will be gone, and her Arthur boy, as she calls me, free to
love whomsoever he will. But this shall make no difference. I have
given you to Richard. I will not wrong the blind man. Heaven bless
you both and bring you to us."

The sun shone just as brightly in the summer sky--the Kauterskill
fell as softly into the deep ravine--the shouts of the tourists
were just us gay--the flecks of sunshine on the grass danced just
as merrily, but Edith did not heed them. Her thoughts were riveted
upon the lines she had read, and her heart throbbed with an
unutterable desire to respond at once to that pleading call--to