soft, heaving sobs. The dark room was full of the past, full of all the things which the old woman's words had brought to life out of the dead years. But through that past the dying woman saw the morrow breaking, as in a radiant dawn. She saw it breaking in radiance and she said:
"Tell me that you forgive him . . . now . . . and always . . . always."
"Yes, yes, Mamma . . . now . . . now and always."
"For he will never forgive, he will never forgive."
"No, no . . . but I forgive him, I forgive him."
"Even if he never forgives?"
"Yes, yes . . . even if he never forgives!"
"For he will never forgive, he will never forgive."
"No . . . but I forgive him . . ."
"And I, dear . . ."
"You forgive me . . . you forgive me!"
"Yes, I forgive you . . . everything. From first to last. Your bitterness . . ."
"Oh, I have long ceased to be bitter!"
"Yes, I know that you had learnt to understand. . . . We could have become very fond of each other, if . . ."
"Yes, if . . ."
"But it was not to be. Let us become fond of
