“Annie Moss. I thought you knew. I thought everybody knew her. She is a widow, quite alone in the world, except for the boy brother of her late husband, who is out in Colorado somewhere, seeking his fortune, but not finding it, somehow. He never sends her anything,” Adler exclaimed. “He can’t help it, poor fellow. His one dream is to strike ore some day and make a lady of his mammy, as he always calls me, though I am only his elder sister-in-law,” Annie added; and then she began to prepare chicken broth for the convalescent. Harcourt made some faint effort to prevent her, and to wait on himself, but neither Annie nor Adler would permit him to stir from his chair. When his meal was ready they drew the little table up before him. “But you? Have you dined?” anxiously inquired Harcourt, before tasting his soup. “Oh, I am going right away now to get my dinner with the wife and babies. Only day in the week I can do it, you know. In better quarters now, right around the corner, over the baker’s shop. Will look in again to-night. Good-by. Annie’ll take care of you,” said Adler, and he left the room. “And you?” said Harcourt, turning to his neighbor. “I am going to keep you company in a bowl of this soup. That is all,” said Annie, and she took a bowl and spoon from the corner cupboard, helped herself from the pot on the stove, and sat down near him. “I am afraid I have got very much in debt,” said Harcourt uneasily. “Don’t be afraid of anything. Be quiet, and rest on this blessed Sabbath day. To-morrow, when you look into your affairs, I think you will find that you are not in debt at all, except to Adler, who must have advanced a month’s rent before he secured this room for you again—not that he has said anything about it, though.” “Well, I have enough to pay him, but the hospital——” “You were in the free ward there.” Harcourt’s pale face flushed crimson. “In the pauper ward?” he murmured. “You could not help being there. It was not your fault. Why should a man mind that, if it is not his fault?” inquired Annie. “Why, indeed?” assented Harcourt humbly. “Besides, if you do not like to rest under an obligation, you can, when you are able, make some donation to the hospital that may cover the cost of your treatment there. And now that you have finished your soup you must lie down and try to sleep, and I will take these things into my room and wash them up,” said Annie, and she also rose and went away. Harcourt stretched himself on his bed, but he did not go to sleep. His mind was full of anxiety. It was now four months since that fraudulent marriage ceremony—four months since he had seen or heard from his mother or written to her. Where was Roma now? Traveling in Europe with her husband, probably. Had she become reconciled to her lot? And what was her judgment of him? He did not dare to think.