"You care, too, do you? Well, yes, it was. You tell him so; tell him I said so, and I was dying. He'll take care of her, I think. She's pretty, but not like me. He never saw her. She's with a woman in Chicago, where I boarded. I haven't paid her board now for months, but it's all right; the woman's a good soul. Dan Overton will pay when you tell him." "You write an order for that child, and tell the woman to give it to me," said 'Tana, decidedly, and looked around for something to write with. A sheet of paper was found, and she went to Harvey for a pencil. "'Most ready to go?" he asked, looking at her anxiously. She nodded her head, and shut the door. "But I can't write now; my hands are too weak," complained the woman. "I can't." "You've _got_ to!" answered the girl; and, taking her in her strong young hands, she raised her up higher on the pillow. "There is the paper and pencil--now write." "It will kill me to lay like this." "No matter if it does; you write." "You're not a woman at all; you're like iron--white iron," whined the other. "Any woman with a heart--" and the weak tears came in her eyes. "No, I have no heart to be touched by you," answered the girl. "You had a chance to live a decent life, and you wouldn't take it. You had an honest man to trust you and take care of you, and you paid him with deceit. Don't expect pity from me; but write that order." She tried to write but could not, and the girl took the pencil. "I will write it, and you can sign it," she said; "that will do as well." Thus it was accomplished, and the woman was again laid lower in the bed. "You are terrible hard on--on folks that ain't just square," she said. "You needn't be so proud; you ain't dead yet yourself. You don't know what may happen to you." "I know," said the girl, coldly, "that if I ever brought children into the world, to be thrown on strangers' hands and brought up in the streets to live your sort of life, I would expect a very practical sort of hell prepared for me. Have you anything more to tell me? I'm going." "Oh--h! I wish you hadn't said that about hell. I'm dreadful afraid of hell," moaned the woman. "Yes," said the girl; "you ought to be." "How hard you are! And the doctor said I would die to-night." Then she lay still quite a while, and when she spoke again, her voice seemed weaker. "You have that order for Gracie, and you are so hard-hearted. I don't know what you will do--and I don't want her to grow up like me." "That is the first womanly thing I have heard you say," replied the girl. She went over to the bed and took the woman's hands in hers, looking at her earnestly. "Your child shall have a beautiful and a good home," she said, reassuringly. "I am going for her myself to-morrow, and she will never lack care again. Have you any other word to give me?" The woman shook her head, and then as 'Tana turned away, she said: "Not unless you would kiss me. You are not like other women; but--will you kiss me?"