“It is a typical case,” said Miss Williams to Marion. “You can study the chart as much as you wish. It will not hurt you to learn the tracings, even though you are a ‘probationer.’” On the very next bed to Kittie lay an older woman. She was also a mother and was slowly dying of consumption. As Kittie moaned and cried, this woman wept silently. In her own dire distress she was consumed with pity. “Oh, the misery of it all,” she sighed, as Marion bent over her. “Bless your dear face, nurse, and may the good God keep you from such wretchedness.” Marion looked upon death for the first time that night, for the poor consumptive died without a sound or struggle. Try as they would, they could not keep it from Kittie. There was too much to be done, too many to be cared for, to go into any extraordinary effort at secrecy. As the stretcher was carried out with the still, cold figure upon it Kittie almost sprang from her bed and tried to peer over the screen to look at it. Marion caught her in her arms and pressed her firmly back. The girl was screaming with horror, and as strong as a lioness. “She is my mother, I tell you!” she shrieked over and over. “I saw her face once. I am sure she is my mother!” Miss Williams came to Marion’s help and together they laid Kittie on her pillow. There were shrieks and groans all over the ward, for Kittie had excited all the other patients. Marion would have gladly put her fingers in her ears to shut out the sounds, but one glance at Miss Williams’ face made her ashamed of her cowardice. In a few minutes the head nurse and an assistant were moving about the ward—they went from bed to bed, quieting and soothing their patients. Kittie was lying back exhausted on her pillow now, and as she lay staring at Marion her eyes seemed suddenly to emit a brilliant lustre. Marion was fascinated by the glance and sat staring back mutely. She held one of Kittie’s hands and was stroking it absently. Suddenly Kittie leaned a little toward her and began to mutter. There was a fierce intensity in her manner, as though she had determined to impart something which must be divulged. Marion divined the poor girl’s message at once. It was clear that she was about to speak the forbidden name, and in spite of herself Marion could not help feeling a deep interest in the secret. Over and over again Kittie struggled to speak distinctly, but her throat seemed parched and her tongue and lips unruly. Marion held her head and gave her some water, trying with wonderful self-control to lay her back upon her pillow. “I must! I must!” whispered the poor girl, distinctly. “I must tell it to the world for my baby’s sake. You shall know, every one shall know my baby’s father.” “Not now, dear,” said Marion, soothingly; “another time. Lie down, Kittie, and be calm. You will be better to-morrow.” “To-morrow!” murmured the girl, hoarsely. “To-morrow I shall be dead! To-night I must speak! To-night or never.”