They ascended to a large airy room on the second floor. Even to Haldane, Mr. Poland appeared far down in the dark valley; but he was in that quiet and conscious state which follows the first stage of the fever, which in his case, owing to his vigorous frame, had been unusually prolonged. Without a word the doctor felt the sick man's pulse, who bent upon him his questioning eyes. From the further side of the bed, Mrs. Poland, sitting feebly in her chair, also fixed upon the physician the same intense searching gaze that Haldane had sustained from the daughter. Dr. Orton looked for a moment into her pale, thin face, which might have been taken as a model for agonized anxiety, and then looked away again, for he could not endure its expression. "Orton, tell me the truth; no wincing now," said Mr. Poland in low, thick utterance. "My dear old friend, it cuts me to the heart to say it, but if you have anything special that you would like to say to your family I think you had better say it now." "Then I am going to die," said the man and both his tone and face were full of awe; while poor Mrs. Poland looked as if _in extremis_ herself. "This return and rapid rise of fever at this late day looks very bad," said the physician, gloomily, "and you insisted on knowing the truth." "You ever were an honest friend, Orton; I know you have done your best for me, and, although worked to death, have come to see me often. I leave my family in your charge. God grant I may be the only one to suffer. May I see the children?" "Yes, a few moments; but I do not wish them to be in this room long." "Don't go just yet, Orton. I--to tell you the truth, I feel that dying is rather serious business, and you and I have always taken life somewhat as a good joke. Call the girls." They came and stood by their mother. Amy was beyond tears, but little Bertha could not understand it, and with difficulty could be kept from clambering upon the bed to her father. "Amy's naughty, she keeps me away from you, papa. I've been wanting to see you all day, and Amy won't let me." The doctor and Haldane retired to the hallway. There was an unutterable look in the dying man's eyes as he fixed them on the little group. "How can I leave you? how can I leave you?" he groaned. At this the child began to cry, and again struggled to reach her father. She was evidently his idol, and he prayed, "Wherever I go--whatever becomes of me, God grant I may see that child again." "Mother," he said (he always called his wife by that endearing name), "I'm sure you are mistaken. I want to see you all again with such intense longing that I feel I shall. This life can't be all. My hearts revolts at it. It's fiendish cruelty to tear asunder forever those who love as we do. As I told you before, I'm going to take my chances--with the publican. Oh! that some one could make a prayer! Orton!" he called feebly. The doctor entered, leaving the door open.