At that touch she caught his hand in both her own frail palms, and sobbed, “Yes, I asked to have a clergyman sent to me.” “I am James Townsend, the rector of St. Anne’s,” he said. But before he had disclosed his identity she had fainted. He hastily summoned assistance and in a few moments she was restored to consciousness, although very weak. He sat down near her couch and quietly stroked the masses of hair, the only charm left her by the ravages of disease. Her face seemed to him to be strangely familiar, and as she laid with closed eyes he had ample opportunity to study it as intently as he wished. Where had he seen that face before? He bent more closely and, as if attracted by the scrutinizing gaze, she slowly lifted the deep fringed lids until her eyes met his. “What is it?” she asked, faintly. “Nothing but a little fainting fit, and you are all right now.” “Yes, I’ll soon be out of all my trouble. I am so tired—so tired! I shall be so glad to rest at last,” she said. He administered another stimulant and gradually she became stronger, until at length she was able to talk. “I think, that is the last I remember, I was going to tell you why I sent for you. It was not to have you pray for me or to have you quote scripture. I sent for you because you are a clergyman and ought to be a good man. I know I am dying, although they tell me I will be better when the warm days come; but I know that when that time comes the grass will be growing over my grave, and that is why I want to tell you my life’s story. I do not feel that I ought to be absolved because I confess my story to you, but it will be a relief to tell some one all and the plain truth of every detail. I shall die easier, I know.” “Aren’t you in danger of overtaxing your strength?” he asked. “No, I feel quite strong again, and if you will give me some more wine I feel quite confident that I can tell you the whole story without a break. It is a long one, though, and may weary you.” “Do not fear, I shall be an attentive and interested listener,” he said. “Well, to begin at the very beginning, I must tell you that I was left an orphan very early in life. I was the youngest of three children, and after the small estate was divided my brother and sister held a consultation and decided to educate me for a kindergarten teacher, as there was less expense connected with the fitting for this work. I finished my course in due time and went to Peoria to organize a private class. Among the names of those given me who had children likely to join my class was a Mrs. Ames. I called at her home early in the week and secured her two children very easily. She seemed to take quite a fancy to me, I thought, a theory which afterward proved to be correct.