"Joe,"--Mrs. Morgan aroused herself as quickly as possible, for she had that to say which she feared she might not have the heart to utter--"Joe, if Mary dies, you cannot forget the cause of her death." "Oh, Fanny! Fanny!" "Nor the hand that struck the cruel blow." "Forget it? Never! And if I forgive Simon Slade--" "Nor the place where the blow was dealt," said Mrs. Morgan, interrupting him. "Poor--poor child!" moaned the conscience-stricken man. "Nor your promise, Joe--nor your promise given to our dying child." "Father! Father! Dear father!" Mary's eyes suddenly unclosed, as she called her father eagerly. "Here I am, love. What is it?" And Joe Morgan pressed up to the bedside. "Oh! it's you, father! I dreamed that you had gone out, and--and--but you won't will you, dear father?" "No, love--no." "Never any more until I get well?" "I must go out to work, you know, Mary." "At night, father. That's what I mean. You won't, will you?" "No, dear, no." A soft smile trembled over the child's face; her eyelids drooped wearily, and she fell off into slumber again. She seemed not so restless as before--did not moan, nor throw herself about in her sleep. "She's better, I think," said Morgan, as he bent over her, and listened to her softer breathing. "It seems so," replied his wife. "And now, Joe, you must go to bed again. I will lie down here with Mary, and be ready to do any thing for her that she may want." "I don't feel sleepy. I'm sure I couldn't close my eyes. So let me sit up with Mary. You are tired and worn out." Mrs. Morgan looked earnestly into her husband's face. His eyes were unusually bright, and she noticed a slight nervous restlessness about his lips. She laid one of her hands on his, and perceived a slight tremor. "You must go to bed," she spoke firmly. "I shall not let you sit up with Mary. So go at once." And she drew him almost by force into the next room. "It's no use, Fanny. There's not a wink of sleep in my eyes. I shall lie awake anyhow. So do you get a little rest." Even as he spoke there were nervous twitchings of his arms and shoulders; and as he entered the chamber, impelled by his wife, he stopped suddenly and said: "What is that?" "Where?" asked Mrs. Morgan. "Oh, it's nothing--I see. Only one of my old boots. I thought it a great black cat." Oh! what a shudder of despair seized upon the heart of the wretched wife. Too well she knew the fearful signs of that terrible madness from which, twice before, he had suffered. She could have looked on calmly and seen him die--but, "Not this--not this! Oh, Father in heaven!" she murmured, with such a heart-sinking that it seemed as if life itself would go out. "Get into bed, Joe; get into bed as quickly as possible." Morgan was now passive in the hands of his wife, and obeyed her almost like a child. He had turned down the bed-clothes, and was about getting in, when he started back, with a look of disgust and alarm.