She entered that room under protest; but when she saw the ghastly, death-stricken face, the skeleton hand stretched out to her, the hollow, sunken, unearthly eyes fixed upon her, she uttered a low cry of horror and pity, and sank down on her knees beside the bed, took his hand and dropped her face upon it. The rector turned and left the room, closing the door after him. “There, there, don’t cry! What is the use? Jennie, I am sorry that I ever hurt you in any way. That is what I wanted to say to you, and that is why I sent for you,” he said, speaking in a rather faint and faltering voice. She did not reply, but sobbed in silence. “Jennie, did you hear what I said to you?” he inquired. “Yes, I heard,” she sighed. “Well, I said I was sorry I hurt you. Well, Jennie?” he asked, and then paused as if expecting some definite answer. “I, too, am sorry that you hurt me, or anybody else, or yourself worse than all, Kightly. I am very sorry, and I pray to the Lord for you daily, almost hourly. Do you pray for yourself, Kightly?” “No, I don’t! What would be the use? ‘God is not mocked.’” “But ‘He is full of compassion,’ Kightly. He——” “There, that will do!” said the sick man, interrupting her. “You know nothing about it! Go now. I have said what I sent for you to say to you. Now go, please. I can’t stand much of this sort of thing,” he muttered in a weak, petulant voice. “I will come again to you when you want me, Kightly,” she said, rising. “All right. And bring the youngster—but not to-day. There, there—go along with you,” said the man, turning his face to the wall and closing his eyes. Jennie left the room. The next day she took the baby in to see its father. She sat down in a chair beside the bed, and sat the baby on the top of the bed near its father’s head. And there she watched it. The man showed but very little interest in his child. “I thought, of course, it was a boy,” he said; “but, poor little devil, it is better that it should be a girl, for I have no money to leave it, but being a girl, it can marry some of these days and live on some other fellow’s money. Take it away now, Jennie. I can’t stand much of it,” he said. And the mortified young mother took away the dazed and depressed baby and afterward said to her own mamma: “I never knew Essie to behave so stupidly. You might have thought she was a little idiot.” “Poor baby! The dark room and the haggard man subdued her spirits. It is a wonder she had not cried,” replied the grandmother. “I am very glad she did not—that would have made him worse,” said Jennie. After this the sinking man declined daily. Jennie spent hours at his bedside, often having the baby with her when he could bear it. Mrs. Campbell had been a daily visitor and an occasional nurse from the time he was first brought to the house. Mrs. Longman never left him except for necessary rest and refreshment.