“But not the less my niece,” cried Mrs. Maylie, folding the fainting girl in her arms; “not the less my dearest child. I would not lose her now, for all the treasures of the world. My sweet companion, my own dear girl!”

“The only friend I ever had,” cried Rose, clinging to her. “The kindest, best of friends. My heart will burst. I cannot bear all this.”

“You have borne more, and have been, through all, the best and gentlest creature that ever shed happiness on everyone she knew,” said Mrs. Maylie, embracing her tenderly. “Come, come, my love, remember who this is who waits to clasp you in his arms, poor child! See here⁠—look, look, my dear!”

“Not aunt,” cried Oliver, throwing his arms about her neck; “I’ll never call her aunt⁠—sister, my own dear sister, that something taught my heart to love so dearly from the first! Rose, dear, darling Rose!”