Will you forgive me?
I can see now how wrong I was, how wicked to love you so much, and how wicked to tell you so.

Will you forgive me, and now that I am dying say one kind word to me, and tell me you can respect me in death ?" I pillowed that dying head on my arm, and told her I should only remember of her what had been kind and good.
"You will only remember that I loved you, Edgar, not that I was unwomanly and wicked ?" "I will forget everything, except that you were my dear cousin and dear friend." "You will marry Agatha," she said, faintly, "and bring her home here.

I hope you will be happy; but, oh! Edgar--Edgar--when she is your wife, and you are so happy together, you will not forget me; you will stroll out sometimes when the dew is falling to look at my grave and say, 'Poor Coralie! how well she loved me--so well--so dearly!' You will do that, Edgar ?" My tears were falling warm and fast on her face.
"Are these your tears?
Then you care a little for me.

Ah, then, I am willing to die!" And so, with her head pillowed on my arm, and a smile on her lips, she died.
We buried her by the side of Miles Trevelyan.

After life's fitful fever she sleeps well.
From the first hour of her illness the doctor had no hope for her.