Power could have repeated with tolerable accuracy every word that passed, though the notable din of New York was quadrupled in that particular locality: "Say, how's Jimmy, Mr. Rafferty?" "Eh? Faix, he's mighty bad, but God is good, and mebbe he'll recover. Is it takin' in yer returns ye are? Well, now, here's some I don't want; so just add thim to yer own shtock, an' mind ye'll be afther takin' the money to yer mother. She needs it more'n I do, the poor sowl." Then the man of faith recrossed Sixth Avenue, and was lost to sight. In his room that night Power wrote to Marguerite: "My dear Meg.--This is my first and last letter to you; so I pray you read it with sympathy. Today I bought a ring at a jeweler's intending it to be a token of our promised marriage. I am sending the ring, and I ask you to wear it in remembrance of one who must remain forever dead to you. The life of happiness we planned has turned to Dead Sea fruit; for I have been struck by a bolt from Heaven, and marriage becomes an impossibility. I would explain myself more clearly if explanation were not an insult. But I _must_ say this--no man could have foreseen the calamity which has befallen me, which has laid in wait throughout the long years to overwhelm me at last. That is all I dare tell you. Forgive me, dear one. I would not willingly cause you a pang; but Fate is stronger than I, and I am vanquished. Do you know me well enough to accept this statement in its crude truth? It cannot be gainsaid, it cannot be altered, time itself cannot assuage its rigors. Do not write to me. I have no fear of reproach, which would never come from your dear lips, but your strong, brave words would wring my very heartstrings. And yet, I love you, and will grieve till the end that you should have been reft from me. Farewell, then, my dear one. Next morning he paid a visit to the clergy-house connected with the cathedral on Fifth Avenue. He asked a priest who received him if anything was known of an old man named Rafferty, who lived on West 27th Street, and had a grandson named Maguire. "Yes," said the ecclesiastic. "I know Rafferty well, and esteem him most highly. In all New York there is no more God-fearing man." Power smiled. "Fearing?" he questioned. "Well, I accept the correction. 'Serving,' I should have said." "And he really exists?" "Undoubtedly. Why do you ask?" "I fancied that, perhaps, the age of miracles had not passed." "Who says it has?" "Not I. But I come here for a specific purpose. I mean to provide Rafferty with the sum of fifteen dollars weekly while he lives, and, if his grandson recovers from an accident he sustained yesterday, a further sum sufficient to maintain, clothe, and educate the boy until he is taught a trade. My banker will co-operate in a trust for this purpose. Will you, or one of your brotherhood, act with him?"