With the restlessness of extreme and almost unbearable suffering, Katie rang her bell--the doctor had desired to know whenever his patient showed any signs of returning consciousness. Perhaps the sound came to the ear of the dying man, perhaps only his thoughts changed. But when she turned again, Katie found the reverent infantine calm gone from his face, and his eyes bent upon her with a terrible struggle after speech, which wrung her very heart. She cried aloud involuntarily with an echo of the agony upon that ashen face. The sound of her voice, of her hasty step and of the bell, brought the Mistress to the room, and the terrified servants to the door. Katie did not see the Mistress; she saw nothing in the world but the pitiful struggle of those palsied lips to speak to her, the anguish of uncommunicable love in those opened eyes. She bent over him, putting her very ear to his month; when that failed, she tried, Heaven help her, to look as if she had heard him, to comfort his heart in his dying. The old man’s eyes opened wider, dilating with the last effort--at last came a burst of incoherent sound--he had spoken--what was it? The Mistress turned her head away and bowed down upon her knees at the door, with an involuntary awe and pity, too deep for any expression, but Katie cried, “Yes, father, yes, I hear you!” with a cry that might have rent the skies. If she did, Heaven knows; she thought so--and so did he; the effort relaxed--the eyes closed--and word of human language the good minister uttered never more. It was all over. Four little orphans sat below crying under their breath, unaware of what was their calamity--and Katie Logan above, at nineteen, desolate and unsupported, and with more cares than a mother, stood alone upon the threshold of the world. CHAPTER XLVIII.