There came a time when the fact had to be faced that death was imminent. The doctor’s face was grave, the nurse was non-committal in her opinion. Jennie hovered about, praying the only prayer that is prayer—the fervent desire of her heart concentrated on the one issue—that Vesta should get well. The child had come so close to her during the last few years! She understood her mother. She was beginning to realize clearly what her life had been. And Jennie, through her, had grown to a broad understanding of responsibility. She knew now what it meant to be a good mother and to have children. If Lester had not objected to it, and she had been truly married, she would have been glad to have others. Again, she had always felt that she owed Vesta so much—at least a long and happy life to make up to her for the ignominy of her birth and rearing. Jennie had been so happy during the past few years to see Vesta growing into beautiful, graceful, intelligent womanhood. And now she was dying. Dr. Emory finally sent to Chicago for a physician friend of his, who came to consider the case with him. He was an old man, grave, sympathetic, understanding. He shook his head. “The treatment has been correct,” he said. “Her system does not appear to be strong enough to endure the strain. Some physiques are more susceptible to this malady than others.” It was agreed that if within three days a change for the better did not come the end was close at hand. No one can conceive the strain to which Jennie’s spirit was subjected by this intelligence, for it was deemed best that she should know. She hovered about white-faced—feeling intensely, but scarcely thinking. She seemed to vibrate consciously with Vesta’s altering states. If there was the least improvement she felt it physically. If there was a decline her barometric temperament registered the fact. There was a Mrs. Davis, a fine, motherly soul of fifty, stout and sympathetic, who lived four doors from Jennie, and who understood quite well how she was feeling. She had co-operated with the nurse and doctor from the start to keep Jennie’s mental state as nearly normal as possible. “Now, you just go to your room and lie down, Mrs. Kane,” she would say to Jennie when she found her watching helplessly at the bedside or wandering to and fro, wondering what to do. “I’ll take charge of everything. I’ll do just what you would do. Lord bless you, don’t you think I know? I’ve been the mother of seven and lost three. Don’t you think I understand?” Jennie put her head on her big, warm shoulder one day and cried. Mrs. Davis cried with her. “I understand,” she said. “There, there, you poor dear. Now you come with me.” And she led her to her sleeping-room.