"He's worse to-day, mum," said the nurse of a workhouse infirmary to a woman closely veiled, who was bending over a bed upon which lay stretched the form of an old man. What a face for any woman to gaze upon, and know that once it had been the joy of her life to mark the light of intellect and the tenderness of devotion sparkling and kindling in the eyes that now only turned in their sunken sockets with dim, vague unrest from side to side. "Do you know me, Roland?" asked the visitor; but no reply was made, nor sign of any kind given. "Bless you, no, mum; he doesn't know me as allus feeds him, and hasn't for months. He jest lays there and rolls his eyes about, and cries sometimes like a babby," said the nurse who stood by. "You see, mum," she continued, "it's more often like this with them as drinks, when they can't get at their drops, they jest get lower and lower, and you can't do nothing for them. My old man went off like this one, and he'd been a frightful drinker." "How do you know when he's worse?" asked Mrs. West, for it was she. "He won't swaller his food, mum, and you can't get no heat into him; jest feel his hands." Mrs. West took the icy hand into her own, and started at its chill dampness. "This is no ordinary coldness," she said, with a nurse's quick perception; for many years had passed since, obeying her husband's mandate, she had found occupation for herself, and food for her children, at the bedside of the sick and dying. "He is dying," she said, touching the clammy forehead; "Oh, Roland, say one word to your wife before you go." As if in answer to her appeal there flashed a gleam of intelligence from the glazing eyes, and with a tremendous effort one word broke from the blue lips with terrible distinctness, and rang through the ward. It was the word "Forgive." Then the eyes grew fixed, and the face slowly settled down into the stillness of death. He who was once the pride of a fond father, and the joy of a doting mother, had made his mark and gone from a workhouse bed to answer before his Creator and Judge for the deeds done in the body. [Illustration] [Illustration] HOW A HUSBAND WAS LOST AND FOUND.[B] "WELL, my girl, this is a spanking place to call our own," said Richard Watson, as he surveyed with pride the two tiny rooms which formed the new home to which he had just brought the woman of his choice. His mother had left them together, after putting the last remaining touches to the place; and they had completed their short tour of investigation, discovering, at each step of their slow progress, some new trace of the thoughtful care that had been bestowed upon the arrangement of the goods and chattels with which the two young people had ventured to set up housekeeping. Richard was a mason by trade, and although his wages were not high, they had enabled him to save something towards a rainy day, and to furnish the aforesaid rooms.