Do pearls and diamonds never grow heavy with the weight of poverty’s tears? Does the rustle of satins and silks never whisper of hunger-moans? Do those rare and ghost-like laces, wrought with the cunning device, and worth their weight in gold, never oppress the hearts of the fair women who wear them?—are they never burdened with the sighs of those whose scant covering scarcely conceals their nakedness, and much less serves as a protection against the chilling blasts of winter, and whom it would take the price of but one single yard of that delicate lace to feed, and warm, and clothe? Will the gratification of pride, and the wilful extravagance of which these things are the result, afford any satisfaction when, at the last call, the rich and the poor must meet on equal ground, and one shall say: “I was an hungered and ye gave me no meat, I was athirst and ye gave me no drink, naked and ye clothed me not, sick and in prison and ye visited me not?” Something of all this flitted through Editha Dalton’s mind as, standing in that wretched room, she witnessed the heart-rending scene already described, and, with a silent prayer that God would strengthen her purpose, she resolved that henceforth her charities should be increased fourfold. A genial warmth began to pervade the room, a gentle simmering sound came from the pail upon the stove, and an appetizing smell as well. The woman, gaining strength from the nourishment she had taken, and also feeling cheered and refreshed, arose and assisted her child to prepare something for the husband and father. The sick man now stirred and coughed feebly, then, becoming aware that something unusual was transpiring, he opened his sunken eyes and looked around. The first object they rested upon was Editha, who had turned toward him when he moved, and who looked like some fair, beautiful creature from another sphere, as she was standing there with the flickering light falling full upon her face, her golden hair, and rich robes. The man no sooner saw her than an expression of recognition and fear stole over his features. “She has come! She has hunted me down at last!” he cried, in hollow tones, and shrinking further down in the bed, but with his eyes still fastened as if by magnetism upon Editha. “Father,” cried Milly, cheerfully, “I’ll have something nice for you in a moment.” “No, no; don’t let them take me away to jail; I ain’t able to go to prison,” he moaned, feebly, and trembling as if with fear. His wife hastened to his side. “No, John; no one shall disturb you or harm you,” she said, soothingly. “His mind is weak, ma’am, when he first wakes,” she continued, turning to Editha. “No, my mind isn’t weak,” the man replied, impatiently. “I know her, and she’s found me out at last;” and, raising his emaciated hand, he pointed with one long, bony finger at their visitor.