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 'GOD'S PEACE' 36s

24* OF MARCH.

SHE is dead. Greta, my dear, dear one is XXXVII dead. All day yesterday we knew that there was no hope. Fever and delirium began during the night and in the morning the doctor left without a word. I could not ask; I understood it was hopeless.

I have been sitting at her bedside, and had to force my face to smile and look happy.

She fancied she was lying ill because she had given birth to our child. She was very happy, but wept now and again because she was not allowed to have the baby by her side. When I did not smile, she became more unhappy, saying that we were not telling her the truth, that the babe was dead and lost to her. During such moments the mill played an uncanny part in her halludnations. She believed her father had carried her child over to the mill, and she implored me again and again to go and fetch it.

Towards evening the fever grew worse. The doctor came, but left very soon. I did not speak to him. Again I took my place at Greta's side. She did not recognise me. Most of the time she lay with closed eyes, murmuring indistinct, be- wildering words, her face twitching with pain. I thought it was almost better thus. Then I did not need to hide my sorrow, I could hold her poor feverish hand in mine and weep.

Suddenly she opened her eyes, — they were large