"I didn't mean it," whispered Baggs, self-depreciation and pain striving for the possession of his face. "If I hadn't have been a-goin', I shouldn't have thought of such a thing, but dyin' takes away one's reg'lar senses. It's not my fault, ma'am, but when I thought about what mother used to say about heaven, _you_ came into my mind. I felt as if I was insultin' you just by thinkin' about you--a feller such as me to be thinking about such a lady. I tried to see mother an' Liz, my sweetheart that was, just as I've seen 'em when my eyes was shut, but I couldn't see nothin' but you, the way you looked goin' along that road and makin' the End look bright. I'd shoot myself for the imperdence of the thing if I was goin' to get well again, but I ain't. Ther needs to be a word said for me by somebody--somebody that don't chaw, nor drink, nor swear--somebody that'll catch God's eye if He happens to be lookin' down--and I never saw that kind of a person in Smithton till to-day." Mabel stood speechless, with a tear in each eye. "Don't, if you don't think best," continued Baggs. "I'd rather go to--to t'other place than bother a lady. Don't speak a word, if you don't want to; but mebbe you'll _think_ the least thing? God _can't_ refuse _you_. But if you think t'other place is best for me, all right." The fright, the sense of strangeness, were slowly departing from Mabel, and as she recovered herself her heart seemed to come into her face and eyes. "Ev'rybody about here is rough, or dirty, or mean, or rich, or proud, or somethin'," continued the dying man, in a thin yet earnest voice. "It's all as good as I deserve; but my heart's ached sometimes to look at somebody that would keep me from b'leevin' that ev'rything was black an' awful. And I've seen her. Can I just touch my finger to your dress? I've heard mother read how that somebody in the Old Country was once made all right by just touchin' the clothes Christ had on." In his earnestness, the wretched man had raised himself upon one elbow, and out of his face had departed every expression but one of pitiful pleading. Still Mabel could not speak; but, bending slightly forward, she extended one of her slender, dainty hands toward the one which Baggs had raised in his appeal. "White--shining--good--all right," he murmured. Then all of Baggs which fell back upon the floor was clay. * * * * * With the prudence of a conqueror, who knows when the full extent of his powers has been reached, Mabel Fewne married within six months. The happy man was not a new conquest, but an old victim, who was willfully pardoned with such skill, that he never doubted that his acceptance to favor was the result of the renewal of his homage. [Illustration] MARKSON'S HOUSE.