She did not heed his explanation, but suddenly entreated: “Let me go with you. I will not be a trouble to you, and I will help as well as I can. I can't give the child up! Why--why”--the thought, crazy as it would have once seemed, was now such a happy solution of the trouble that she smiled hopefully--“why shouldn't I go with Mr. and Mrs. Savor, and help to make a home for Idella there? You will need money to begin your work; I will give you mine. I will give it up--I will give it all up. I will give it to any good object that you approve; or you may have it, to do what you think best with; and I will go with Idella and I will work in the mills there--or anything.” He shook his head, and for the first time in their acquaintance he seemed to feel compassion for her. “It isn't possible. I couldn't take your money; I shouldn't know what to do with it.” “You know what to do with your own,” she broke in. “You do good with that!” “I'm afraid I do harm with it too,” he returned. “It's only a little, but little as it has been, I can no longer meet the responsibility it brings.” “But if you took my money,” she urged, “you could devote your life to preaching the truth, to writing and publishing books, and all that; and so could others: don't you see?” He shook his head. “Perhaps others; but I have done with preaching for the present. Later I may have something to say. Now I feel sure of nothing, not even of what I've been saying here.” “Will you send for Idella? When she goes with the Savors I will come too!” He looked at her sorrowfully. “I think you are a good woman, and you mean what you say. But I am sorry you say it, if any words of mine have caused you to say it, for I know you cannot do it. Even for me it is hard to go back to those associations, and for you they would be impossible.” “You will see,” she returned, with exaltation. “I will take Idella to the Savors' to-morrow--or no; I'll have them come here!” He stood looking at her in perplexity. At last he asked, “Could I see the child?” “Certainly!” said Annie, with the lofty passion that possessed her, and she led him up into the chamber where Idella lay sleeping in Annie's own crib. He stood beside it, gazing long at the little one, from whose eyes he shaded the lamp. Then he said, “I thank you,” and turned away. She followed him down-stairs, and at the door she said: “You think I will not come; but I will come. Don't you believe that?” He turned sadly from her. “You might come, but you couldn't stay. You don't know what it is; you can't imagine it, and you couldn't bear it.”