Mrs. Chester was lying upon the bed sleeping heavily, her cheeks were crimson, and there was some difficulty in her breathing which seemed unnatural. Still there did not seem to be cause for apprehension. Since her troubles came on, the poor wife had often been a sufferer from nervous headaches, and this seemed but a more violent attack than usual. Chester put the hair away from her forehead, and kissing it, softly went out, thankful that she was not awake to hear his evil news. He sat down by the window, for it was now early spring, and Isabel crept to his side. The little creature found in his presence consolation for the loss of her bird. They had been sitting together perhaps half an hour, when Mary Fuller came in; her face bore a look of keen disappointment, and her eyes were full of tears. "You have told him?" she said, addressing Isabel, "you have told him about it?" "Yes, my good little girl, she told me. You were very right to sell the bird," said Chester, reaching forth his hand. The child came close to him and looked earnestly in his face. "You look very bad--you are in pain?" she said, "something is the matter with you, Mr. Chester." "I have a little pain here," said Chester, with a sad smile, pressing one hand upon his breast. "It seems, Mary, as if an iron girdle were about me, straining tighter and tighter. Sometimes it troubles me to breathe at all?" Mary touched his hand, it seemed as if a glowing coal were buried in the palm. Her eyes filled with strange terror, and without a word she sat down at Chester's feet, burying her troubled face in her garments. "Did--did you sell the bird?" asked Isabel, touching Mary's shoulder. "Yes," replied Mary, in a smothered voice, "I sold it, but they would only give me half a dollar. They saw that we wanted money--but I would not let it go for ever--sometime they will let us buy it back again." "Oh, that is so much better! When papa gets his place again, we can have birdy back," said Isabel, relieved from her most pressing grief; but the hope so innocently expressed struck upon the poor father's heart like a knife. When he got his place back! That time would never, never come! He was disgraced--a branded, ruined man. The full conviction had been cruelly brought home to him by the words of that hopeful little girl. A smothered groan broke from him. Little Mary lifted her head, regarding him sadly, as he paced up and down the floor. "Mr. Chester," she said, following him, and speaking in a troubled under-tone, "don't look so sorrowful. I wish you could only cry a little--just a little, it will do you good; come in and see _her_, perhaps that will bring the tears." "It is here, my girl, it is here!" said Chester, laying one hand upon his chest. "I cannot breathe." "Perhaps--oh, I am almost sure it is only the tears that cannot get to your eyes lying heavy there. That does give dreadful pain--I know."