Death! Is it so dreadful, after all? Dorris argued the question with himself, and came to the conclusion that if it meant rest and forgetfulness he would welcome it. There had been a great deal of hope in his life, but he was convinced now that he was foolish for entertaining it at all, since nothing ever came of it. Perhaps his experience had been that of other men; he gave up one hope only to entertain another, but experience had taught him that hope was nothing more than a solace for a wretched race. The old hope that they will be better to-morrow, when they will get on with less difficulty and weary labor; but to-morrow they die, and their children hope after them, and are disappointed, and hope again. Should Death open the door, and walk in to claim him, Dorris believed he would be ready, since there was nothing in the future for him more pleasant than the past had offered. He did not believe he was a morbid man, or one given to exaggerating the distress of his own condition, but he would give up life as he might give up anything else which was not satisfactory, and which gave no promise of improvement. How distinctly the step is climbing the stair! He had never heard it so plainly before, but the faltering and hesitation were painfully natural; he had heard it almost every night since coming to the house, but there was a distinctness now which he had never remarked before. A long pause on the landing; poor Helen dreading to go into the baby's room, he thought, whither she was drawn so often from her grave. But it advanced to the door of the room in which Dorris sat, and stopped again; he drew his breath in gasps--perhaps it was coming in! A timid knock at the door! The face of the listener turned as pale as death, and he trembled violently when he stood upon his feet. Should he open the door or lock it! Going up to the fire, he stirred the smouldering coals until there was a flood of light in the room, and turned up the lamp to increase the illumination. Still he hesitated. Suppose he should open the door, and find poor Helen standing there in her grave-clothes! Suppose she should drop on her knees, and ask for her child, holding out her fleshless fingers to him in supplication, and stare at him with her sightless sockets? After hesitating a long time, he went to the door and threw it wide open, at the same time springing back from it in quick alarm. Annie Benton! He had firmly expected to see the ghost of poor Helen; instead he saw a fresh and beautiful girl, but so excited that she could scarcely speak. There was a look of reckless determination in her face which made Allan Dorris fear for the moment that she had gone mad, and, strolling about the town, had concluded, in her wild fancy, to murder him for some imagined wrong.